Fleeting Moments
by sparklinglemonade
Summary: Noah Puckerman isn't a good person – he's an ass, a studly sex-shark – but when it comes to Quinn Fabray he tends to have his moments.
1. 001: Kink

**A/N:** You know what I realized when scouring the Glee archives? There are barely any Puck-centric stories. I decided to fix that, so here is the first of a 100 drabble challenge. A lot of them will be short, but hopefully that means they'll come faster…hopefully.

**Title: **_Fleeting Moments_  
**Rating: **_M_  
**Author:** _sparklinglemonade_  
**Summary:** _Noah Puckerman isn't a good person – he's an ass, a studly sex-shark – but when it comes to Quinn Fabray he tends to have his moments._  
**Genre: **_Angst/Drama  
_**Chapter:** _One_

**Kink**

All it takes for him to know that she's different is the way she kinks her brow to call him out on his bullshit – it's like a weird aphrodisiac to him. It's like whenever he's pissing off Finn or fucking with Santana (or Brittany, or any of the other Cheerio's he's scamming on), all she has to do is kink her brow at him with a stare and he's immediately frozen.

He's not sure if it's the fact that she's a sexy Jesus freak, or if it's because she's the laughably virginal yet all-powerful head Cheerio, or if it's some kind of master combination of all these things that makes her so maliciously sexy, but whatever it is it works on him.

He watches her mentally castrate Finn on a daily basis, yelling at him about nonsensical religious things or glaring at him when he makes stupid remarks, and he can't help but think how hot it would be to throw her up against a locker and make her shut the fuck up (in a hot, sexy way, that is), and how it would be even hotter because she's so damn innocent and thinks the world revolves around her, and then he usually realizes that Finn/Santana/Brittany/Random has been talking to him, and he nods his head and makes a sarcastic remark so she can glare at him, and kink that damn eyebrow.

Like an aphrodisiac that only he can sense.

* * *

One day he sees her after Cheerio's practice, sitting in her car, crying. She keeps turning the key and listening as the engine flips over and over and over. He wants to do nothing more than piss her off.

He doesn't, though. He walks up to her car and opens the driver's side door and asks if she's going to sit there for the rest of the night or get into his car and let him drive her home.

She looks up to him, eyes shining, and he's confused. Her eyebrows are normal, all plain and non-kinked, and her eyes are…teary? For once he doesn't want to slam her against a locker; when she looks at him like that, he wants to awkwardly comfort her and never talk about it again. He's confused by this; he wants to hug her, but he's Noah Puckerman – he doesn't hug unless it's naked and horizontally. To shake this, he grabs her arm, "you want the ride or not, Fabray?" he barks and she glares at him while getting out of the car, making him crazy once again.


	2. 002: Science Fiction

**A/N:** See? I told you they were short. Here's number two.

**Title: **_Fleeting Moments_  
**Rating: **_M_  
**Author:** _sparklinglemonade_  
**Summary:** _Noah Puckerman isn't a good person – he's an ass, a studly sex-shark – but when it comes to Quinn Fabray he tends to have his moments._  
**Genre: **_Angst/Drama  
_**Chapter:** _Two_

**Science Fiction**

In the few hours that they spend alone together after the wine cooler incident, he learns two things about Quinn Fabray: it annoys him that she doesn't like science fiction and tries to change the channel when he puts it on SyFy, and when she yells at him for things he doesn't really realize he does, like tossing her Cheerios uniform into the hamper or resting his heavy head on her collarbone, but that's it. Those are the only things he doesn't love about her (even when he doesn't even realize he loves her).

"No one knows about this, Noah, okay?" She shimmies into her skirt and looks at him, trying to watch the television around her body, "I'm serious, Noah!"

"You got it, Mom," he says, and turns up the volume.

"Why, after what we just did," she asks, pausing the zipping of her red and white pleated skirt, clearly disgusted and disappointed in herself, "would you _ever_ call me Mom?"

"The only people who call me Noah are my Mother and my little sister," he drones and cranes his neck, even though they both know he's really focused on her partially covered top, the heavy cross resting on her chest. He imagines it must feel awful to go against your religious beliefs like that, but it doesn't really make any difference to him right now, all he wants is to either watch Warehouse 13 or watch her get naked again. He knows the latter won't happen, so he scoots over on the bed (_her_ bed, and he notices her discomfort in her stance) so that he has a better view of the television, but lowers the volume. "Don't worry, Fabray, this goes nowhere. You've got my word."

"Yeah," she deadpans, "I wonder what that's worth." She sits down on the bed next to him and stares at the television, "what _is_ this?"

"This," he says, turning the volume up, "is Warehouse 13. Stick around for a few, Fabray, you just might learn something."

"Can't you just leave?" She whines, and he smiles.

She takes the smile as a malevolent way of saying no, and so she sits next to him and watches.


	3. 003: Frightened

**A/N:** So, I just wanted to say thanks if you're reading the story – it means a lot, I've been thinking about it and getting it planned out for a while. I just want everyone (all like, two of you) to know that this is going to get very dark, fairly quickly. The first dozen or so prompts are somewhat light hearted, but around number fifteen, the drabbles will start to become completely angsty and depressing, and the lightheartedness will disappear for...well, pretty much the rest of the story. I know I'm only on number three, but I just wanted to forewarn you if all that is not your thing. It's going to be dark. Know that.

**Title: **_Fleeting Moments_  
**Rating: **_M_  
**Author:** _sparklinglemonade_  
**Summary:** _Noah Puckerman isn't a good person – he's an ass, a studly sex-shark – but when it comes to Quinn Fabray he tends to have his moments._  
**Genre: **_Angst/Drama  
_**Chapter:** _Three_

**Frightened**

He's actually frightened when she announces the baby is going to be Finn's (though she doesn't really announce it, he just knows that's what she'll say. He knows she won't want him as the baby daddy because, other than the fact that he's not her boyfriend, he's Puck. He's not a good person - he's an asshole, and he's sure as hell not a father. Finn may be an idiot, but he could at least handle being nice to his pregnant girlfriend about her being pregnant). He wants her to himself; even though that scares him, her belonging to another person turns out to feel worse. He believes her, for a few moments – he believes the baby is Finn's when the tall boy tells him that she's pregnant. He thinks she lied to him before the wine cooler incident, and maybe she'd done it with Finn. Maybe she'd forced Finn to keep it a secret because, come on, she was the Virgin Mary of McKinley – she couldn't have people knowing she'd had _sex_ with Finn (or him).

He yells in the hallway, something loud and obnoxious about the Immaculate Conception, and that's when he knows that it's his. Her face gets red and splotchy, and she drags him into the first empty classroom she sees. "I only had sex with you because you got me drunk on wine coolers and I felt fat that day," she tells him. He doesn't want to believe her – deep down somewhere he wants to think that she had sex with him because she truly cared about him, because she kind of wants to be with him, scarily enough if the option was available he'd jump at the chance to be with her. He's not entirely sure if it would go too well, their personalities being so demanding, but he'd do it.

She calls him a Lima Loser, and storms out of the room. He knows it's true, and it's probably best for the kid that he does what she wants him to, but it still stings. It's his – he knows it is – and even though it'd probably have a shitty life with him as a dad, at least it would know whom it's dad was. At least it'd have a dad - one who wouldn't be out being a rock star and abandoning his kids, but would be there. One who could stand being a Lima Loser because he'd be there for his kid.

That's when he knows that baby has to be his and Quinn's, not hers and Finn's. He doesn't know how it'll happen, but he sure as hell knows that when there's a Puck, there's a way.


	4. 004: Fake

**A/N:** I've been stalking my own traffic on this story, and I know it's getting a few hits, so…I'm not going to be one of those annoying authors who holds chapters hostage for reviews, because that annoys me to no end, but if you have something to say – regardless of what it is (unless it's hate) – say it! I'd love to hear what you have to say, three readers, I really would :) Okay, here's number four.

P.S., a lot of the inspiration to write this came from jackiekennedy's story, Say A Little Prayer. I'm in love with it, so if you get a chance read it – you won't be sorry.

**Title: **_Fleeting Moments_  
**Rating: **_M_  
**Author:** _sparklinglemonade_  
**Summary:** _Noah Puckerman isn't a good person – he's an ass, a studly sex-shark – but when it comes to Quinn Fabray he tends to have his moments._  
**Genre: **_Angst/Drama  
_**Chapter:** _Four_

**Fake**

In the beginning, being fake towards Finn is hard – still easier than the consequences, but difficult. Eventually, though, it gets easier and easier to actually believe his façade. He starts to forget for fleeting moments that he ever had sex with Quinn Fabray, and subsequently impregnated her, or that he'd stopped sleeping with any hot girl that walked through the doors of McKinley.

He imagines that he's still Puck, the playboy, instead of Puck, the lying, backstabbing father-to-be. Then, Finn says something dumb about the baby, like that he suggested the name Drizzle to Quinn, and Puck feels awful again.

He doesn't get it – Noah Puckerman doesn't feel awful. Noah Puckerman doesn't usually _feel_. He thinks about it during football practice, while that little queen Kurt is prancing around the field trying not to stare at Finn's ass. Sure, Finn is his best friend, the only person he's ever talked to about what happened with his Dad because he's the only one he knows who can relate. Finn's a good guy, oblivious, sometimes and stupid, most all of the time, but he's never been anything than a good friend to Puck. He figures if he'd knocked up Karofsky's girlfriend it wouldn't have mattered much to him, but being fake to Finn is tough because Finn is the closest thing he's ever had to a best friend.

Finn, while still terrified at the thought, has come to like the idea of being a father. He doesn't want to take that away from him, even when he so desperately wants to claim the baby for his own, he doesn't want to do that to Finn. He wants Finn to get the chance to right his father's wrongs – but he wants to do the same thing. He wants to be the dad that he never had, and that's where he's torn. Does he do what he wants, or what she wants? Does he do the right or the wrong?

To be honest - to him which is wrong and which is right is the better question.

He isn't quite sure, but until he finds out he decides to go day by day lying; being fake to the one person who isn't morally obligated to love him but does (in a bro kind of way), to the one he knows he shouldn't be lying to.

In time, though, being fake to Finn is easier than he ever expected.


	5. 005: Pencil

**A/N:** I'm. So. Tired. So, I know it's nowhere near a full day, but my boss has been scheduling me seven hour shifts instead of four hour shifts all week, and I've literally been doing the same thing every day: 1, wake up at eleven. 2, eat. 3, lay around until one thirty. 4, work until eight thirty. 5, eat. 6, stay up until 2. It's stupid, but I guess it works? Actually probably not, as I'm always tired…well, whatever. So, I know this is short, but I have the next few written already so review and make me awake/happy? Thanks, three readers!

**Title: **_Fleeting Moments_  
**Rating: **_M_  
**Author:** _sparklinglemonade_  
**Summary:** _Noah Puckerman isn't a good person – he's an ass, a studly sex-shark – but when it comes to Quinn Fabray he tends to have his moments._  
**Genre: **_Angst/Drama  
_**Chapter:** _Five_

**Pencil**

They sit together in algebra two – they have all year long, - but it hasn't been until recently, when he started wanting to fight for her and for his child, that he notices the way she bites softly on the tip of her pencil's eraser when she's concentrating, or chews mercilessly on her bottom lip when she's confused, sometimes drawing blood. He's noticed the right answers on her quizzes, her long, toned legs, the shortness of her Cheerio's skirt, sure, but this has somehow escaped him.

Even if it weren't the case that she was carrying his secret bastard child, it would still be the sexiest damn thing he'd ever witnessed.

The kind of thing that makes him think of them, rolling around on top of their math teacher's desk while "Hot for Teacher" blares in the background.

This, in turn, usually reminds him of how many times a day he pictures her as an eighties glam rock sex pot, which is suspiciously often.

One day, he leans two inches to the left and whispers in her ear, "Fabray, can you quit it with that pencil? You're driving me insane."

Surprisingly, she smirks at him and continues biting on the pencil until he turns away, when she smacks him on the back of the head with it. She smiles, and he glares back at her and whispers, "If you think that's making me any less into you, it's not."

He grins smugly at her and eases back into his seat.

He has no choice now but to show Quinn Fabray that he can be a good father - and better yet, a good boyfriend - just to prove her wrong.


	6. 006: Squint

**A/N:** This one was particularly sad for me to write, because it would clearly have been my idyllic ending, and obviously it didn't happen. I felt so bad for my version of Puck while I was writing this at work. Especially at the one line of dialogue, that was the hardest. Sigh. Review? I'd love you forever, I suppose.

**Title: **_Fleeting Moments_  
**Rating: **_M_  
**Author:** _sparklinglemonade_  
**Summary:** _Noah Puckerman isn't a good person – he's an ass, a studly sex-shark – but when it comes to Quinn Fabray he tends to have his moments._  
**Genre: **_Angst/Drama  
_**Chapter:** _Six_

**Squint**

If he squints, he can see them (sometime in the future) together. She's usually balancing a small green eyed blonde girl in a floral print dress on her hip, and he's usually poking at the girl, making her laugh while Quinn watches them with a proud smile on her face.

Its always nighttime, around the same time as when he thinks of it (shamefully, this is what he thinks about before he falls asleep almost every night,) and they're usually trying to put her to bed, (he has scarily conjured up her and Finn putting the same girl – the one with his mouth and chin – to bed, much to his dismay). He's making the small girl laugh, tickling her and making stupid faces.

He can't seem to hear anything in the dream, but he watches her laugh and smile, and her eyes sparkle just like Quinn's. At some point, he always seems to be riling her up too much, and Quinn says something that makes him stop, but reluctantly so. The girl must say something cute or heartwarming, because he smiles in a weird way that only really happens when he feels proud of himself (which is rare). They put her in pajamas and tuck her into bed.

He sits at the foot, watching as Quinn tells her a story and she continually drifts further and further off. He is in awe as the little girl finally sinks into a peaceful looking slumber, and Quinn kisses her on the forehead. He gets up and does the same, and (for the only, most heartbreaking part of the dream he can hear), he whispers, "Daddy loves you, baby girl," and kisses her head again.

They back slowly out of the room together and he helps her clean up their tiny apartment's living room, ridding it of toys.

They sit on the couch together and talk for a while, completely comfortable with each other. He's grown to love this part of the dream the most; no hiding from Finn, no lying to their parents, no reps to protect, just them, together, and perfectly okay with that.

More than perfectly okay, apparently, as before he knows it dream-Quinn is on top of him and tugging on his earlobe with her teeth. They fumble into their bedroom, giggling like their daughter (god, _their_ daughter) does before the door slams.

Then Puck's eyes squeeze and he blinks, and it's gone.

They're gone.


	7. 007: Misplaced

**A/N:** This is kind of AU, because really the show has Mercedes telling everyone in Glee about the whole baby daddy drama, but I saw the prompt, and this just happened, so…oh well. I'm in love with Santana and Brittany, by the way. This is the only time you will ever see Santana and Puck together, _ever_. Oh, and, I've been listening to Dust In The Wind over and over, so forgive me if anything is particularly saddening or emotional even though it's probably not. Oh, and review? Yay, you.

**Title: **_Fleeting Moments_  
**Rating: **_M_  
**Author:** _sparklinglemonade_  
**Summary:** _Noah Puckerman isn't a good person – he's an ass, a studly sex-shark – but when it comes to Quinn Fabray he tends to have his moments._  
**Genre: **_Angst/Drama  
_**Chapter:** _Seven_

**Misplaced**

One day, as he's slamming Santana against a wall in the boy's locker room, he realizes the sonogram he's had tucked in his wallet (in the same compartment as his condoms, to make sure he actually uses them now) is gone – he must have misplaced it or dropped it, and his mind begins to reel.

He wrenches himself away from her, pushing her off him multiple times before he is able to get down onto the floor to search.

"What the hell is your problem?" She asks, her eyes clouded with lust and want. He mumbles something incoherent, and she glares at him as he throws a dirty sweatshirt at her, "what's so damn important?"

"Nothing," he mumbles, and continues casing the place, throwing clothes, and bags on top of the lockers.

"Then why are you looking for it?" She asks, brows raised smugly.

"Shut the fuck up and help me," he grumbles and continues looking.

"How am I supposed to know what I'm looking for, ass?" She asks and curses at him in rapid-fire Spanish. If he weren't freaking the hell out, she'd be so hot right now.

He finally sees it, out of the corner of his eye underneath his wallet and grabs it, "Thank God," he says, holding it to his chest. He'd swiped this one from Finn's wallet while he was showering after practice a few weeks before, and getting another wouldn't be easy to come by.

"Holy shit," Santana says from over his shoulder, "holy fucking shit, Puck, you're the father!"

"No," he lies badly. She sits down next to him, shocked.

"I can't believe it," she says, and looks at him. He can tell she's kind of hurt but he doesn't really care because Quinn's going to shoot him in the face, and then he won't be a father because he'll be dead. She lets out a laugh and shakes him from his reverie of a funeral with the only guests being his mother, sister, and Finn. She stands up and faces him, caressing his cheek smugly.

"Well, I had a great time," she says, then pauses at the door and flips her ponytail, "Daddy," she adds, cackling down the hallway as she leaves.


	8. 008: Joy

**A/N:** I started this at work. I finished it at home. Can you tell? I don't really love this one, but that's only probably because I liked the last one so much. And I like the next one a lot, too. Sigh, my life. Anyway, review? PS, I'm probably going to update twice tonight, cause I really like the next one & I'm a wonderful person, so...yeah, review x 2? Yay?

**Title: **_Fleeting Moments_**  
Author: **_sparklinglemonade_**  
Rating:** _M_**  
Summary: **_Noah Puckerman isn't a good person – he's an ass, a studly sex-shark – but when it comes to Quinn Fabray he tends to have his moments_**  
Genre: **_Angst/Drama_**  
Chapter:** _Eight_

**Joy**

He can barely find the words of apology through the pure joy he feels when Finn says that he finally knows the truth. Not that he wants Finn to hate him, but the fakeness has been getting to him as of late, and he knows for a fact that it's been getting to her, too.

Then, Finn punches him and he has no qualms with kicking his fucking ass, even though the punch was completely justified and didn't really hurt that much. Somehow somebody pulls Finn off of him and keeps him off so he can regain his composure. He watches Quinn, trying to figure out if they're going to keep this charade going or if they're finally going to tell him. Finn yells at her and yells at him and he sucks in his cheeks; he's getting more and more defensive about her, and finally something clicks and he can't take it anymore.

She's breaking right in front of him, because of this stupid ass, and fuck if he wasn't going to defend her. She says that yes, he's the father and Finn asks about the hot tub angrily; Quinn stands there sniffling, so he comes to her aid yelling, "You were stupid enough to buy it!" Finn lunges at him again and then throws another little fit before storming out of the choir room, more furious than Puck had ever seen him before.

Quinn turns to him, eyes full and dripping, and he exhales, reaching out for her. She shakes her head and runs out the door, cradling her swollen stomach. He rolls his eyes in annoyance - she couldn't just make it simple? - and starts to walk out after her. Rachel Berry puts her hand on his back and he turns, "Give me five minutes?" she asks, and he nods, sitting in one of the chairs as all the glee nerds stare at him while Santana tries to explain what just happened to Brittany.

"What?" He growls after a few seconds, and everyone other than Wheels and Aretha turn away. Wheels shakes his head while Aretha approaches him. "What?" he asks again when she stops in front of him & stares.

"How could you be so insensitive to his side?" She asks, and he groans, "he's been thinking he's going to be a father for how long and you just ripped that away from him in the nastiest way possible...what's wrong with you?"

"I," he starts, but Wheels looks over & interrupts.

"What I don't get is how you did that in the first place - you got you best friend's girlfriend pregnant." He sighs, thinking Wheels is lucky he's already in a damn wheelchair before getting up to face the glee nerds.

"Don't you think I feel fucking shitty enough already?" he yells, throwing his arms up, "don't you think I've felt so bad about this for weeks? Do you nerds even realize that you've barely been slushied in the past few months? It's been tearing me up – I haven't even been able to fake being all broody when I hang out by the seven eleven, I actually end up brooding. Do you know what it's like to have to carry something like this around for so long? No. So don't fucking preach to me or judge me – I did what Quinn wanted, and that's it; fuck you if you don't get it." He thunders, then storms out of the room to find Quinn.

Screw Berry, he needed to talk to her; he needed to tell her he would do whatever she wanted now, as long as it meant he got a part of his kid's life.


	9. 009: Touched

**A/N: **So, here's update number two for you. Okay, I'm going to try some reverse psychology here. I don't want you to review, kay? Do _not_ do it. Please. (But…could you please? They really do mean a lot.) By the way, I love this one, because it features the highly under explored Mrs. Puckerman, who I find to be the ultimate Jewish mother. Being Jewish myself, I hope I do her justice.

**Title: **_Fleeting Moments_**  
Author: **_sparklinglemonade_**  
Rating:** _M_**  
Summary: **_Noah Puckerman isn't a good person – he's an ass, a studly sex-shark – but when it comes to Quinn Fabray he tends to have his moments_**  
Genre: **_Angst/Drama_**  
Chapter:** _Nine_

**Touched**

He's actually really touched when his Mother doesn't kill him for impregnating a non-Jew at 16. Sure, she's angry, but she lets him cry on her shoulder (and promises never to let anyone know that Noah Puckerman can produce tears) before she yells at him, which kind of helps.

She wallops him on the back of the head when he's finished with the tears, and he grunts in response. She stands, pacing back and forth as she yells, "I can't believe you, Noah Puckerman! You're ruining your life, you know that? How are you going to support a child - with your bar mitzvah money?" He decides not to mention that he'd spent most of that on pot and dip over the past almost four years at the time – the point was moot, anyway, "Where are you going to live? What the hell are you going to do with an infant, Noah, god! You're killing me here, you really, _really_ are."

"Ma," he says, "there's just one more thing."

"Noah," she growls, "you're going to give me a heart attack. You want that on your conscience? You want me, dead, on your conscience?" He stands and gestures for her to sit down. Reluctantly, she does so and looks at him, nodding for him to continue.

"I kind of told her she could live here, since she got kicked out of her house." He squeezes his eyes shut, waiting for another smack on the head, but instead his mother sighs.

"What do you think I am, Noah, Lucifer? I'm not going to turn a homeless, pregnant sixteen year old away…" she pinches the bridge of her nose and takes a deep breath. "When's she coming?" She asks, and he can tell she's irritated. She's taking this better than he ever thought she would, which is kind of freaking him out. He expected a lot of tears and disappointment, not questions and comfort.

"She's…outside," he explains, and his Mother lets out a scoff.

"This girl, this _Quinn_," she asks, "is carrying your child and you let her suffer outside in the cold? That's not how I taught you to treat a girl, Noah! Let her in the house before the girl freezes!" She yells, unnecessarily, and he obeys – goes to the front door and opens it, leading her inside and taking her bags. She won't make eye contact with him, but he can tell she's crying and it makes him feel awful; he knows this is far from her first choice of homes, and she's probably full of regret and resentment for him, but he just wants to be good to her, so he ignores it.

"Ma," he calls into the kitchen, "this is Quinn."

His mother emerges from the kitchen, looks her up and down, and then does something unbelievable – she goes Yentl on his ass.

"You didn't tell me how gorgeous she was, Noah! Hi, I'm Noah's mother; you can call me Mrs. Puckerman. What a gorgeous girl you are!" She places a hand on Quinn's shoulder, and he notices her muster a smile at the woman. His mom shoots him a wink, almost to say "_don't worry, we'll get her_" or something along those lines, and he rolls his eyes.

"Thank you so much for having me, Mrs. Puckerman," Quinn says, and the older woman leads her into the kitchen, offering food and drink and asking nice, yet intruding questions.

She calls over her shoulder, "Noah, put those bags in the guest room, would you?" before descending into a rapid-fire set of pregnancy questions. He doesn't think he's ever been so happy to be doing heavy lifting in his life.


	10. 010: Cough

**A/N:** Whoo, one tenth done! Ha, such an accomplishment...or, you know, not. Anyways, I thought I was going to hate this, but I actually like it a lot. It's kind of cutesy and fluffy, but I love the beginning because it's something I feel could (and will) happen to me. Review and I'll…well I'll be happy, and that's always a good thing.

**Title: **_Fleeting Moments_**  
Author: **_sparklinglemonade_**  
Rating:** _M_**  
Summary: **_Noah Puckerman isn't a good person – he's an ass, a studly sex-shark – but when it comes to Quinn Fabray he tends to have his moments_**  
Genre: **_Angst/Drama_**  
Chapter:** _Ten_

**Cough**

Sometime during the early winter, right after Sectionals, she gets a cough from his little sister. He's never been more worried (or caring, or – apparently – annoying) in his life.

"Stop taking care of me," she says into her pillow on Tuesday, the third day of her cough and fifth of winter break, "I'm better, see?" She lifts her head and coughs into his face.

"I don't get it," he says, throwing a tissue at her, "if I was ignoring you, you'd say," he puts on an overly girlish falsetto, "'Oh, Noah, you're such an ass. You don't care about me or this baby at all!' But now here I am, devoting my life to your well-being, an-,"

"You're smothering me!" she whines at him, and he rolls his eyes.

"I was raised by a crazy single Jewish woman – you either get all or nothing here," he throws his arms up, and then takes two bottles of vitamins out of his pockets, "do you want them or not?" he asks and he snatches them out of his hands. "See? Papa Puck knows what Mama Q needs," he smiles smugly, knowing that it pisses her off supremely when his mother calls her "Mama Q".

"Good job," she deadpans, "I'm so disgusted that the baby just hurled." He laughs and points to a glass of water.

"Drink that. Rest. I'll be up later," he says, and leaves the room as she groans.

The next time he enters, he's holding a tray with a huge bowl of chicken soup and a glass of ginger ale. She groans (again).

"I can_not_ eat anymore soup," she says, and he puts the tray down on her nightstand, narrowing his eyes at her.

"Is it bad?" he asks, and she shakes her head.

"Of course not," she says, "but haven't you ever heard of starving a cold?"

"…No," he says, and shoves a spoon at her. "Besides," he counters, "you're not allowed to take all that gross cold medicine because of the kid, and my Mom says chicken soup is nature's penicillin, so…" he smiles, smugly and gestures to the soup.

"Penicillin is mold, Puck!" She throws the spoon back at him, "It's already natural."

"Do you want me to leave you alone?" he asks.

"Ohmygosh, _yes_," she laughs.

He thrusts the spoon into her hand and grins, throwing an "enjoy your soup," over his shoulder.

That night, he watches as she loafs down to dinner, attempting to show him  
(and his mother) that she feels better. He watches her face distort in disgust as his mother places a serving – sized bowl of chicken soup in front of her and laughs at her scowl. He pokes at the unappetizing looking slab of fish on his plate while Quinn sighs forlornly, "Mrs. Puckerman, do you mind if I skip dinner? I'm not that hungry."

"You have to eat," Mrs. Puckerman gasps, "It'll make you feel better."

"I just can't ea-," she begins, but Puck softly steps on her foot across the table.

"Ma, haven't you ever heard of starving a cold? Just let her sleep, I'll eat the soup." He interjects, and snatches the soup from her. She smiles at him and thanks his mother.

He smiles back and figures it was about time he got on her side about something.


	11. 011: Hot & Cold

**A/N:** I'd written a line or two of this, but it came out entirely different than I imagined. Not sure if I'm too thrilled with it or not, because it makes Quinn come off bitchy and she's not being bitchy…let me know what you think.

**Title: **_Fleeting Moments_**  
Author: **_sparklinglemonade_**  
Rating:** _M_**  
Summary: **_Noah Puckerman isn't a good person – he's an ass, a studly sex-shark – but when it comes to Quinn Fabray he tends to have his moments_**  
Genre: **_Angst/Drama_**  
Chapter:** _Eleven_

**Hot & Cold**

Every single, solitary night she complains about how she's too hot, so he turns down the thermostat. "No," she sighs, "now I'm too cold." And one night, he just snaps.

"If you're that fucking climatic," he yells, "go work the fucking thermostat yourself!"

He realizes this is probably a very bad idea (a very, _very_ bad idea) but he's been doing everything for her and getting shit for it in return. He needs her to know he could not be doing this for her, he could be a deadbeat ass like his Father easily, but he isn't and he doesn't want to be. He was treating her well, and for that he deserves at least some kind of recognition.

"I'm fucking pregnant, Noah," she says through gritted teeth, "I'm allowed to have hot flashes."

"It's not a hot flash when it happens every twenty-one fucking seconds!" He says, "and it's not that I care about helping you out – I don't, it's just I run down to the basement six times and you just expect it! You don't even ask!"

"You got me pregnant, ass! The asking goes out the window at that point!" She's starting to tear up now and he starts to feel bad. He opens his mouth to apologize, but she beats him to it. "I'm hormonal and bitchy, and having hot flashes, and I know you're not used to these things but you have to understand that neither am I. You also have to understand that you got me pregnant, and half of this whole thing is your fault. You have the easy part here, okay? So forgive me if I'm not the nicest person right now, but remember what I have to do in three months, and get over running up and down the stairs a few times, alright?" She answers, and turns back to the television.

"…Okay," he mumbles, and sits back down next to her.

"Oh, and Noah?" she asks. He braces himself for another verbal beat down.

"…Yeah?" He's too afraid and shell-shocked to say anything clever.

"I'm still too cold," she smirks.


	12. 012: Sin

**A/N:** We're getting down to the last of the happiness here…and I mean clearly the angst is what I love about this story so get excited. Not sure what I think about this one, either...it was hard for me to write, because I really had no idea what I was doing with this prompt – also hence why it's on the short side. Anyway, review please?

**Title: **_Fleeting Moments_**  
Author: **_sparklinglemonade_**  
Rating:** _M_**  
Summary: **_Noah Puckerman isn't a good person – he's an ass, a studly sex-shark – but when it comes to Quinn Fabray he tends to have his moments_**  
Genre: **_Angst/Drama_**  
Chapter:** _Twelve_

**Sin**

He's begun to wonder, after everything that's happened, how she still maintains such strong beliefs. It's weird, because he's not really religious at all. Sure, he identifies himself as a Jew, but he's more into the mannerisms than the spiritual side of it. Because of the strangeness of it all, he's started watching her more closely in an attempt to figure out the answer to how she does it, and he comes up with a few things.

First, he notices that she quietly says grace under her breath every night before she eats dinner. He really hopes his mother doesn't notice this, because it'd get all her non-practicing religious feathers ruffled, and that would be unpleasant. He notices that on Fridays during lent, she stealthily avoids meat without his mother noticing – this time he's sure she doesn't notice, as she's somewhat oblivious. He hears her pray every night before she goes to bed through the thin wall their room's share. He can imagine her kneeling by her bed, hands folded, head down – so calm and serene.

"First," she always starts, "I want to thank you for giving me the many blessings I have in my life. Thank you for the roof over my head, thank you for the food I eat, thank you for the bed I have to sleep in…thank you." He usually notices that the conversation is about to shift at this point, "I want you to make sure that everything that happens with this baby goes smoothly. I want the labor to go smoothly for selfish reasons, but I want it to know that I love it, and I want it to love me – whether I give it up for adoption or not, it has to know that I love it." This is where he begins to wish he knew how to pray, because he wants the same thing but has absolutely no idea how to ask for it, "I want you to protect this baby, because as far as I see it, it can't be a sin when I love it so much. Something that I would give my life for has no ability to be a sin in any way, shape, or form."

He smiles, because if he were anywhere near religious he'd probably feel the same way. He'd never say it, not even to god, but he'd feel it, and isn't god supposed to know what you feel?

"The only thing I think of as a sin is…Noah," she says. He usually can't listen anymore at this point, so he lies in his bed and ignores the sound of her voice.

You can't love a sin, can you? He thinks no, and he sure as hell hopes she thinks the opposite.


	13. 013: Care

**A/N:** I've been writing a lot at work, and when I do it comes out really short (usually), so forgive me if the length isn't there, but hopefully its okay! Review?

**Title: **_Fleeting Moments_**  
Author: **_sparklinglemonade_**  
Rating:** _M_**  
Summary: **_Noah Puckerman isn't a good person – he's an ass, a studly sex-shark – but when it comes to Quinn Fabray he tends to have his moments_**  
Genre: **_Angst/Drama_**  
Chapter:** _Thirteen_

**Care**

He knows that she knows he cares about her – what he is unsure of is how much she cares about him.

He realizes she likes him enough to live with him, and finds him at least slightly tolerable. He sees it in the way she yells at him, weird as it is. He looks at her while she's saying (screaming) things to him that are uncharacteristically nasty (a particularly biting example – when she called him the most "asinine, dick headed deadbeat in all of Ohio" after he'd meaninglessly hit on the cashier at the grocery store – which he'd barely done at all. He'd just asked why such a hot babe like her was working at a register, and that was only because she'd mentioned some backhanded compliment in the car about Finn, and he'd felt shitty about it.) She would always almost immediately start to cry and look at him with her huge glossy green eyes that are literally begging him to stop being such an ass and start acting like a guy whose semi-girlfriend/baby mama is pregnant with his badass bastard spawn.

He does try, though, really.

He tries to be nice to her, and do right by her, but what can he say? He's Puck. Noah Puckerman isn't a good person – he's an ass, a studly sex-shark – but when it comes to Quinn Fabray he tends to have his moments.

…Or at least he tries to.

What he cares about most, though, is that she cares, and so far he's not really sure about that.


	14. 014: Frail

**A/N:** I like this one, even though it got more angsty than I wanted it to be. Yay! Angst! Review please? Thank you!

**Title: **_Fleeting Moments_**  
Author: **_sparklinglemonade_**  
Rating:** _M_**  
Summary: **_Noah Puckerman isn't a good person – he's an ass, a studly sex-shark – but when it comes to Quinn Fabray he tends to have his moments_**  
Genre: **_Angst/Drama_**  
Chapter:** _Fourteen_

**Frail**

Although she's gained a fair about of baby weight, to him she still looks frail and unkempt to him – and even more so, sad.

He hates that she looks sad, so one day he says something.

"Why don't you perk up, Fabray?" he asks, "You're killing the mood." They're eating breakfast one morning when he mentions this ever so casually when he's really been planning it for a few days. It's not the sweetest thing he's ever said, he realizes, but he has no idea where she gets off saying what she says next.

"I'm…moving out," she blurts and avoids his gaze. He narrows his eyes at her, confused.

"Where are you going to go?" He wonders aloud, not processing her words fully.

"Mercedes offered me her older brothers room, and I'm going to take it. I can't live here anymore, Puck." She's crying and still won't look at him, and he's starting to get pissed.

"Why the hell not?" He stands up and kicks his chair back, "I gave you a fucking home, Quinn, and this is how you repay me? I put my ass on the line with my family and lost my best friend for you, and you just leave? You just go a month before you're supposed to have my kid? What the fuck?"

"Staying here," she sniffs, her voice calm and even, "makes me want to keep her, and I know we can't."

"We can," he interjects, angry and hurt, "you just don't want to." He's blaming her - he knows she hates when he does that because it's not totally her fault and he knows that, but it's an easy way to piss her off (which she doesn't seem to be happening right now, and that pisses him off because he can't very well be angry when she's all sad), so he does it.

"No," she says, quietly, not looking at him, "you're right, I don't. I don't want to give up my dreams, Noah, and I don't want to give up my dreams, Noah, and I don't want to give my child a shitty life with absentee parents."

"We wouldn't be absen-," he starts, but she interrupts.

"Yes," she says, "we'd be working full time to support the kid, and we'd never be around…I'm sure your mother would practically raise her, and I would never want to dump that on her."

He sighs, knowing she's right and hating it, "it doesn't matter what I think, does it?"

"Not too much," she says, even though it's nice to hear."

"Yeah," he says, "well that doesn't really make anything better, does it?"

"I guess not," she says, and he watches as she gets up from the table and disposes of her uneaten food before leaving.

He makes sure he says it loud enough so she can hear it, and so it can hurt: "I'll miss you."


	15. 015: The End

**A/N:** First of all, I would formally like to welcome you to the love that is the angst. YES. If you understood how excited I was, you'd literally feel bad for me. Second, I'd like to just make it known that I wrote this whilst watching Teen Mom; that show and this story make a very well suited pair. Enjoy this chapter, and wallow in sadness. I know I will. :) Oh, & review? That'd be lovely.

**Title: **_Fleeting Moments_**  
Author: **_sparklinglemonade_**  
Rating:** _M_**  
Summary: **_Noah Puckerman isn't a good person – he's an ass, a studly sex-shark – but when it comes to Quinn Fabray he tends to have his moments._**  
Genre: **_Angst/Drama_**  
Chapter:** _Fifteen_

**The End**

He knows it's the end of them when they give up Beth, he's sure of it – until she shows up at his house the night she leaves the hospital reeking of whiskey (how she found whiskey, he has no idea, but before he's able to process the idea that she's _here_ he thinks about how it's so _her_ to be completely wrecked off whiskey – how she's barely ever had a drink before and must have taken the first thing she found from her Mother's liquor cabinet).

That's when he knows it's far from the end.

He invites her in and they sit at the kitchen table. He pretends not to notice as her breasts leak milk that was unnecessarily made. She sways a bit on her chair, and he stares at her tear streaked face and attempts to figure out who's supposed to make the first move.

"I went," she begins, "into my older sisters room, because that's usually where my Mom keeps extra towels, since my sister moved out years ago and we always visit her," he nods at her as she hiccups, but then continues, "so I walked in expecting to see the room as I left it, and," she stops to choke out a sob, "my Mom had it turned into a nursery. There was this gorgeous white wood furniture, a crib and a changing table, and this beautiful armoire, all matching and beautiful and white…there was a rocking chair," she's barely understandable between the alcohol and the tears, but she forges ahead, "with a picture hanging above it, and when I looked to see what it was, it turned out to be this old picture of my mom rocking me in that chair…" He places a hand on her back and rubs in circular motions, "it was so fucking gorgeous, and I can't believe it…I can't…," she trails of into sobs and he continues to rub her back, "she even knocked out the wall between our closets, so the rooms were adjoining, Noah, it was so nice, and I just sat there on the floor and cried. I…"

"Shh," he says, and stares at her face, flushed from alcohol and wet from tears, "you don't have to tell me if it hurts too much," he states more for his own benefit, as he's seriously contemplating drowning himself in Jack Daniels, but she shakes her head.

"She did all this for someone who she will never know," she cries, "and who I will never know."

"Quinn," he starts, but she thrusts an arm in his direction.

"When she saw me sitting on the adorable pink area rug she bought, just leaning against the leg of the crib crying, all she could say was 'I'm so sorry, Quinnie'. She told me she was sorry, and I asked why, and she couldn't answer me. She just said she had something to do, and left me there…and I sat there for a few hours, and then I broke into the liquor cabinet, and now I'm here." She finishes, and puts her head on the table. "We could've done it, you know? We could've been great parents to her…we could've known her and loved her and watched her…but we can't now, and we won't."

He thought the worst had passed, but as she sits with her head on his kitchen table, sobbing and talking to him about things that weren't and couldn't be, he knows it's really not the end of them; it's just the beginning.


	16. 016: Three

**A/N 1:** There will be a rather large author's note at the end of the chapter, just to calm my own nerves. Anyway, this came out different than I planned, but I think it wound up better than the original idea. Review? Generous benefits will be provided for those who do ;) (It really won't though, just so you know, just gratitude.)

**Title: **_Fleeting Moments_**  
Author: **_sparklinglemonade_**  
Rating:** _M_**  
Summary: **_Noah Puckerman isn't a good person – he's an ass, a studly sex-shark – but when it comes to Quinn Fabray he tends to have his moments_**  
Genre: **_Angst/Drama_**  
Chapter:** _Sixteen_

**Three**

Three weeks – that's how long goes by before he calls her after she's released from the hospital, after she's slept on his bedroom floor and let him stroke her hair until her eyes ran dry. The conversation is beyond awkward, but he misses her voice and it's nice to hear it, even the sad version she's wearing now.

Then, a happy ending someone where in sight, he tells her he loves her, and he misses her, and the line goes silent. He can hear her breathing, shallow and quick, clearly panicking, and he knows that he shouldn't have done that.

"Quinn, relax," he says, "it doesn't mean anything."

He hears her take a deep breath, steadying herself, "you saying you love me isn't ever going to be nothing," she says, and then starts to talk faster, "this was supposed to go away," she starts, "after the baby thing wore off, we were supposed to go back to normal. You were supposed to forget about me or hate me or do something that involved ignoring me completely, and I was supposed to be okay with that, but of course you have to be difficult. Noah, you can never just do what you're supposed to, can you?" She gets angrier, it seems, as she thinks about it. "You just have to be an ass – a damn rock star just like your father."

He tends to brush her insults off, because usually they suck, but this one is not only a low blow – it's a lie.

"Of all fucking people, you sure as shit know that's not fucking true," he growls, "and fuck you, Juno, what am I just supposed to not fucking love you? I loved you before you got knocked up, Fabray," a lie, though not really an important one, "I'm not just going to stop because you're not anymore."

"Fuck you," she spits, "you're a fucking dead beat, and I fucking hate you."

"How would you know?" he asks venomously, "you never even gave me the chance to find out."

"I fucking hate you, god! I hate you," she hisses, and he can tell she's crying.

"We both know if you really hated me then you wouldn't be crying right now," he listens to her sniffle for a few seconds.

"Don't bother calling me again, dick," she manages, then hangs up.

"Have a great fucking summer, Fabray," he spits into the dead phone line, then slams it down and screams into his pillow.

Happy fucking ending his ass.

**A/N #2:** I feel like Quinn needs some explanation here, if not just to settle my own stupid neuroses. Think about it: Puck is the only thing connecting Quinn to Beth anymore, and think about what he does in this chapter. Think about how all she wants to do is forget and what he does is probably the farthest thing from helping her to forget. I'M FORCING YOU TO THINK ABOUT IT. (Note: I have never actually used the phrase "sure as shit" in my own life, and I have no idea how it made it's way into the chapter, but it did. Weird.) End of explanatory authors note.


	17. 017: Never

**A/N:** Important point number one: OH. MY. GOD. I'm kind of freaking out, cause one of my favorite authors story alerted me. Literally smiling ear to ear here…thanks jeytonbrucasnaley, it means a lot! Important point number two: I've noticed that when I'm writing fight dialogue I tend to use the word "spit" or "spitting"…so, if you have any other words, please suggest them. This one is dirty and angsty, love it! ;) review?

**Title: **_Fleeting Moments_**  
Author: **_sparklinglemonade_**  
Rating:** _M_**  
Summary: **_Noah Puckerman isn't a good person – he's an ass, a studly sex-shark – but when it comes to Quinn Fabray he tends to have his moments._**  
Genre: **_Angst/Drama_**  
Chapter:** _Seventeen_

**Never**

They don't talk much anymore (and whenever they do it's more or less him asking if she ever cared about him, and her spitting a venomous "never").

Thankfully, with it being summer they barely see each other anyway, which makes it much less painful.

One day in late August, he sees her at Sheets 'n' Things (where he still works even though he's long paid of his half of the Vocal Adrenaline cars, because Mrs. Schuester may be bat shit crazy, but she's still got great legs. Plus, he's going to need to make some money if he ever wants to get out of this shit town, and he's got to do it somehow,) looking at bed-in-a-bag sets and throw pillows, and he decides to talk to her, knowing it's probably a stupid idea – getting into it with her while he's at work.

He is Puck, though. Stupid ideas are his kind of thing.

Besides, he doesn't care enough _not _to do it. He shuffles up behind her; his hands stuffed into his pockets as he clears his throat.

"What?" She asks, uninterestedly perusing thread counts as he stares. She's being cold and mean, and it kind of bruises his ego a little.

"Just wanted to say hey," he mumbles, wondering what he should have said in the first place.

"Well there you go," she says, "you said it: all is well in the universe now, good for you," she tries to brush past him, but now he's pissed so he grabs her arm and wrenches her backwards.

"What the hell," he says, "is with you? Can't you be fucking polite when I'm trying so damn hard here?"

"First of all, maybe you should take the hint – if I wanted to talk to you, I'd talk. Second, because," she says flatly, "I was perfect and polite for the first sixteen years of my life and look what that got me."

He scoffs at her, "What? A guy that cares?"

"Alone, disowned, and with an idiot who can't seem to take no for an answer," she spits and he quirks his brows.

"I'd be more understanding if you'd give me a damn reason," he growls.

"Last time I checked, when a girl says no it means no," she's getting more and more annoyed, and he watches as her face gets red and splotchy.

"Don't give me that bull, Quinn. I wasn't the one that you said no to."

"Shut up," she says, covering her eyes with her hands, trying to block him out.

"You're blaming me, and I don't fucking appreciate it! It's not my fault!"

"Shut the fuck up!" she yells, attempting to shove him.

He grabs her wrists and leans towards her ear, "make me," he growls.

She lunges towards him, tugging on his bottom lip with her teeth and he releases her wrists only to have her grab his cheeks and pull him down to her. He lets her do what she wants, kissing back and seething appropriately. She bunches his shirt in her fists and then pushes him away roughly.

He watches as she stalks away, and then does something else stupid. "Hey," he yells after her. She turns around and looks at him, tears in her eyes. She nods to him, and he stuffs his hands in his pockets, shifting his weight between his toes and heels. "Come over tonight? Around seven; I want to talk to you."

She squeezes her eyes shut, then nods, before turning and walking out the door. He watches, hoping she'll manage to stop this charade long enough to show.


	18. 018: Midnight

**A/N:** This one came out weird…Anyway, (not)new development: I love my reviewers, however few of you there are. I love when people get it the way I do. I. Love. You. I haven't mentioned yet that I have decided that Quinn isn't a normal, bubbly or stupid drunk; she's a sad one. So there, now I have. Quinn = a sad, reflective drunk. That will be important, wink. The next few will be fairly short, so be ready. I won't have internet for the next day or two, but I'll be writing if that makes you feel any better. Make me love you (either newly so or more) & review?

**Title: **_Fleeting Moments_**  
Author: **_sparklinglemonade_**  
Rating:** _M_**  
Summary: **_Noah Puckerman isn't a good person – he's an ass, a studly sex-shark – but when it comes to Quinn Fabray he tends to have his moments_**  
Genre: **_Angst/Drama_**  
Chapter:** _Eighteen_

**Midnight**

She arrives a few (five) hours late, at midnight, holding a paper bag in one hand and a photo album in the other. Tears are shining in her eyes, but he remains stony (or stoic, in his opinion).

He invites her inside and waves over his shoulder for her to follow him down to the basement. He grabs a bottle of Jack Daniels from behind the couch and two small glasses, but she waves him off and takes a swig out of her bottle. He watches her eyes narrow while she tries to conceal a cough, shaking his head at her lack of experience. He feels like soon enough that won't be a problem for her, and it bugs him to no end but it's not like he can just fix her – she has to want to be fixed first. Look at his father: he's not there, and however much he wants him to be, his dad's not going to be there until (or unless) he wants to.

He sure her problems don't progress quite that far, but as she takes swig after swig from her bottle (which eventually reveals itself to be tequila), he's not quite sure that they won't either.

"So," she exhales, her voice raspy, "what did you want?"

"You," he lets out a chuckle and she rolls her eyes, "I wanted you."

"You had me," she says breezily, "but then you knocked me up and that went straight to hell."

"Listen," he backtracks after lifting his glass to his lips and taking a long sip, "I want to make sure you're alright. I know things with us have been…weird lately," they've been more than weird (hostile probably would've been a better word choice) but he figures going light will be the best option here, "but I want you to know that if you need anythi-,"

"I'm going to need to cut you off," she laughs, "because if you think I'm going to be telling you all about my damn feelings tonight, you're sorely mistaken."

"I'm just trying to tell you that I'm here for y-,"

"I came here because today we kissed in Sheets 'n' Things, and I figured maybe we could make an arrangement," she drunkenly winks at him, "so I could get out my aggression, and you could do what you do best."

"What's that?" he asks shaking his head, purely out of curiosity.

"Mindlessly bang chicks," she says bringing the bottle to her lips. She lets out a loud sigh, "you know it's what you want, Puck."

"What happened to Noah?" he asks, a little too sad for her to handle, he notices as she snorts at him.

"We were such a damn lie, you know that?" She doesn't wait for his response, "It was like we weren't defined as a couple, but we were practically married. We lived together and you were whipped," he pinches the bridge of his nose, this isn't why he invited her here, "and we were just fucking lying to each other. Once she was gone, we were just floating somewhere between being in love and killing each other…and I don't even know where we are now."

"We're at the point where you're a drunken mess and I'm trying to make you stop this shit. Every time I see you you're either a bitch or a drunk bitch, and I can't fucking handle it," he barks, "I hate that you're being stupid like this."

"You think I care what you think?" her eyes are brimming with tears as the lie falls from her lips, "I don't give a shit what you want from me."

"You're a liar, Quinn Fabray, and you know if I ask you to that you'll try and stop this," he says in a lower tone, hoping she'll fall for what he's trying to do (what he's trying he isn't quite sure yet…hopefully she'll go for this reverse psychology or what not).

"Listen to me, ass, I make no damn guarantees," she sneers, then takes a final sip out of the bottle and slams it down on the coffee table, then storms up the stairs and he hears the front door slam.

"Noah, what was that?" his mother yells down the stairs.

He hangs his head in his hands and sighs, spotting the photo album next to the bottle labeled "Beth" in a soft baby pink, "I have no idea, Ma," and it's true.

He really has no idea.


	19. 019: Promise

**A/N:** I lied. The last one was way longer than I anticipated (the longest drabble yet, in fact). I no longer make promises about length, I'll just roll with it, kay? So, anyway, I wrote this whilst down the shore, in the rain, looking out on the bay across from my house. I think it's supposed to be a metaphor to "the calm before the storm", but I'm not really sure. I also was listening to my rain playlist (yes, I have a rainy sad song playlist entitled: Man, That Was A Burn. It's pathetic, I know) so this might be a little extra depressing and angstalicious. Yum. Review?

**Title: **_Fleeting Moments_**  
Author: **_sparklinglemonade_**  
Rating:** _M_**  
Summary: **_Noah Puckerman isn't a good person – he's an ass, a studly sex-shark – but when it comes to Quinn Fabray he tends to have his moments._**  
Genre: **_Angst/Drama_**  
Chapter:** _Nineteen_

**Promise**

She'd made him a promise (kind of, anyway) – and she'd sounded like she'd meant it, but it wasn't long before she'd broken it (and subsequently, him).

Technically it hadn't been a real promise, but she'd said she'd stop (kind of).

She'd also said she probably wouldn't (kind of), though. Quinn Fabray was confusing, and he was currently in a mind-fucked state of confusion.

Noah Puckerman didn't handle mind fucks well, which explains why he's lying underneath the pool table in his basement with a bottle of Jack Daniels sitting next to him (which, in a way, was currently his only companion,) and had the stereo cranked up to an ear splitting decibel, playing a strange mix of angry rap, desperate R&B, and the occasional 80's ballad. He's wearily singing along to "End of the Road" by Boyz II Men when he hears the basement door creak open, and a quiet pair of footsteps begins to descend down to him. "Reveal yourself," he croaks, wiping his eyes quickly and tilting his head to look over at the staircase.

"Noah?" his little sister looks around the basement, then notices his feet hanging out from under the pool table and ducks over to see him, "You're…under the pool table?"

"Good observation, Jenna," he drawls, then pats the floor next to him, "sit down here with me."

She does, hesitantly, and they lay next to each other on their backs, breathing in synch for a few minutes before she clears her throat, "This is because Quinn came over yesterday, isn't it?"

"Could be," he mumbles, turning onto his side and taking a swig out of the bottle. His sister gets up and turns the stereo down, then lightly presses the socked sole of her foot to his forehead.

"Come out here," she says, and he obliges. They sit atop the ripped felt of the pool table, and he places the bottle into one of the netted holes.

"So…," she stares at him and rolls a pool ball between her palms, "what's wrong with Quinn?"

"She's sad," he answers, shrugging. It's true, though – she is sad, but would he be here drowning his sorrows in JD if it were that simple?

"And…," she eggs, but he's uninterested in explaining this to an eleven year old.

"And nothing worked the way it was supposed to, which makes me sad, too." He says with a note of finality.

"You're weird," she says, then catches the ball, "and Quinn was really nice last night…I don't see the problem," she begins to roll the ball again and he catches it in his own big palm.

"The problem is that Quinn was drunk," he says, "Quinn was happy because she was drunk, and she promised me, kind of, that she wouldn't do that anymore. She said, in a way, that she'd be okay without it."

"Without alcohol?" Jenna asks, curiously, clearly not really getting what he was saying – it was probably better that way, anyway.

"Exactly. It's like this ball," he rolls the ball between his open palms, "first it was in my court, and I said to stop drinking, and at that point I gave her the ball – she could've done what she wanted with it, and she did…She's trying to hide from hurting, and you can't do that," he takes a sip out of the bottle and laughs.

"What?"

"I'm just a hypocrite," he says, and a pang of guilt fires through his chest, "no big deal."

"I hope everything works out okay," she says in a small voice, and he nods. She gets off the table and slowly makes her way up the stairs.

"So do I, kid," he calls after her, and then lies down on the table, the almost empty bottle at his lips. He takes a final sip, and then exhales, "So do I."


	20. 020: Fight

**A/N:** One Tree Hill is making me angst OUT. I'm re-watching season seven and it's so freaking dramatic I'm dying here (hence the drama below). I'm sorry this took forever, but I moved into college this week and I've been stressed out. Also, I couldn't figure out what the hell I was thinking with the beginning and I couldn't quite get myself off the ground. I can't quite tell you when I'll update again, hopefully this weekend, but they're going to start becoming more and more spaced out, which sucks. Ugh. I'm sorry in advance, really I am. PS, personally I don't think this is my best, but still tell me what you think?

**Title: **_Fleeting Moments_**  
Author: **_sparklinglemonade_**  
Rating:** _M_**  
Summary: **_Noah Puckerman isn't a good person – he's an ass, a studly sex-shark – but when it comes to Quinn Fabray he tends to have his moments._**  
Genre: **_Angst/Drama_**  
Chapter:** _Twenty_

**Fight**

When he answers the door he's ready for a fight (and apparently, so is she).

"If you knew what was best for you, you'd stay away," he growls and she laughs in his face.

"First of all, who asked me to come here? Oh right, that was you, and second, clearly I know what's best for me," she says, not referring to the current conversation, "you're free to whore yourself around because I know what's best for me."

"You're disgusting," he lets out a chuckle and she walks past him, and glares at him.

"Do you realize what you're saying? You should be fucking thanking me for not making your life a living hell? You're supposed to be happy."

"_You're_ supposed to be happy, you bitch," he yells, following her, "this was _your_ choice, not mine!"

"I came here because you asked me to, so what do you want?" she snaps, stomping into the kitchen and hoisting herself up to sit on the counter. She grins wickedly at him and the vodka shines in her eyes and flushes her face. He'd invited her over the night before to attempt to figure out what he could do to help her, and she hadn't shown up. He'd figured as much, but he'd also assumed that'd be the end of it – apparently not, though.

"I asked you to come here yesterday," he says, grabbing her arm and pulling her off the counter, "and you show up now?"

"Better late than never," she mumbles and rubs her arm. "Now, what'd you want, I've got better places to be."

"Like the inside of a bottle of vodka? Tequila? Whiskey, maybe?" He snaps, wondering what the hell he thought he could do with the mess she'd made of herself. What did he think – he could just look at her and ask her to stop and she would? Clearly he's been delusional as of late, but this seems to be worse than he thought.

"Shut up," she spits, and rolls her eyes at him, hoisting herself up again.

"What are you doing?" He asks, pulling her down.

"That's something you should be answering, why the fuck am I here, Puck?" She asks, her voice getting louder and louder.

"Can you shut up?" he asks, and holds her by her shoulders. "I want to know what you're doing to yourself…so I can have a better handle on what I should be doing to help you, or not to help you. To help me." He attempts to make sense of the visit, but he can't quite figure out what either of them are or should be thinking.

"You should do nothing, okay? You should leave me the fuck alone. That's how you can help me." She glares at him, her eyes dark and cloudy and pained. "I hate you, don't you get that? I fucking hate you so much, I never want to fucking see your face again!"

"You're a liar," he says lowly and she shakes her head.

"The sad thing," she gets herself out of his grip and starts to move towards the door, "is that I'm not. I fucking hate you, and you won't leave me the fuck alone."

He grabs her by the back of the head and crashes his lips into her own while she struggles against him for a moment before relinquishing and kissing him back. They break momentarily and her eyes fill and he feels her face in his chest. He simply hugs her and tells her it's going to be okay for what seems like hours until they sink down on his kitchen floor and she lays her head in his lap.

"It's not," she whispers, "going to be okay."

He lets her fall asleep before he answers, "I know."


	21. 021: Pollen

**A/N:** First of all, I want to apologize for disappearing on you guys. I've written this chapter four times in the past two weeks and it was really just bad – not me looking for sympathy, or digging for compliments bad, but actually really bad. I've constructed a loose outline for the story and I've written the first line to every chapter, but this one –every time I wrote it – seemed to drag on and not bring anything to the plot. Anyway, this document (with only the little tag, the title, and the first line) has been lurking around on my computer for the past few days and I've just been ignoring it and getting annoyed with myself…that is, until last night when I got an amazing review from _dreamsfilltheemptysky _(who's review literally made me grin fro ear to ear), and it made me think that I needed to regain my will to live, try again, and just move on from this train wreck of a chapter because I have bigger and better things to do with this story.

Anyway, rant over. Now to the begging part:

Please, tell me what you think. I know these are all kind of blending together to make a sad drunken mess of ficlets, but trust me, I have a distinct endpoint I'm planning for, and in a few chapters you'll see. You'll get it, I promise. You guys are awesome, by the way. Thanks for this. OH and by the way, never take a college ceramics class. It will eat away _all _of your free time and make your hands all chalky.

**Title: **_Fleeting Moments_**  
Author: **_sparklinglemonade_**  
Rating:** _M_**  
Summary: **_Noah Puckerman isn't a good person – he's an ass, a studly sex-shark – but when it comes to Quinn Fabray he tends to have his moments._**  
Genre: **_Angst/Drama_**  
Chapter:** _Twenty One_

**Pollen**

He wakes up itchy and covered in hives, as if she's pollen and he's highly allergic, but has been sitting under a tree all night. In all honesty, what he's allergic to is her; her being there, her being so broken, just her.

Technically, the hives are really in his imagination, but the effect he assumes they would give off is real. He's drowsy, like he's taken an extra Benadryl tablet, and he can't seem to gain enough strength to get himself up off the floor.

He carried her up to his bedroom at some point and laid her down on the mattress, then went to tell his Mother she'd be spending the night...in his bed.

"No," she says, then points her finger at him, "and before you ask me again, no, she will not sleep in your bed. She can stay here Noah, that's fine with me, but not in the bed with you, okay? I don't need a second grandchild." He sighs, rolls his eyes at her and nods before turning to retreat, "Noah?" his mother calls, and he looks back, "she'll get better. I promise, she will."

"No," he croaks out, "she won't. She'll die first."

His mother ignores this and smiles sadly at him, "she'll get better." She promises again, and then shuts her own bedroom door. He lies on his floor until the sun starts to rise, hoping his mom is right and wondering what the hell he's gotten himself into.

In the morning, he's itchy. He's red and swollen (metaphorically, that is,) and hating life - and she's gone. She left a note on his pillow that simply says "sorry" and apparently made his bed.

His mother knocks on his door a while after he wakes up, and looks at him lying on the floor like someone left for dead (and in a way, he is). He stares back at her and gestures to the bed.

"She said she's sorry," he croaks out, his throat dry and his voice raspy, "and she made my bed. I don't know…" he trails off because he isn't sure of what he doesn't know. "I told her it's going to be okay, ma, but I don't think it will be."

His mother crosses her arms and sits on the edge of the bed, "it will be," she pulls on the shoulder of his t-shirt and he manages to sit up against the side of the bed, you have to trust me on this one, okay? One day it will all be okay, and you two will start feeling like normal people again."

"When?" he asks, and his mother shrugs.

"That's up to you," she smiles, "now get off the floor, come downstairs, and make me breakfast…you at least owe me that much for all this wonderful advice you're getting."

He obliges, but as he follows his mother down the stairs he can't help but think that it's not really up to him – it's up to her. And because it's up to her, he figures that he actually may never be okay.


	22. 022: Embarrassment

**A/N:** I'm so happy I got that last one out of the way – yay me, even though it sucked. Tonight's the season premiere, which is mad exciting and I'm thrilled for more QP goodness! I'm pumped! (Update: no QP together, which sucks, but I loved the separate parts they each had…hoping for a little more closure in the future, though). Be prepared, I'm sure I'll crank something out of it if there's anything good for me to take from :) Review?

**Title: **_Fleeting Moments_**  
Author: **_sparklinglemonade_**  
Rating:** _M_**  
Summary: **_Noah Puckerman isn't a good person – he's an ass, a studly sex-shark – but when it comes to Quinn Fabray he tends to have his moments._**  
Genre: **_Angst/Drama_**  
Chapter:** _Twenty Two_

**Embarrassment**

It's an embarrassment, how much he watches over her and how little he gets in return.

He passes by her in the halls, now that they've been back in school for a while (actually for more than a while – it's the first week of December) and notices that they've fallen into a neat little routine. They have first period together, US History, and spend most of the time avoiding looking at one another (he sits in the back, she sits in the front,) instead of paying attention. They pass each other on the way from almost all of their classes, pretending that they've never spoken, never slept together, never exchanged I-love-you's.

They make it look as though they don't know each other at all; they avoid, and deny – her because she can't do anything else (he assumes), and him because she's doing it (he's always been more of a follower, though he never likes to admit it).

He realizes it's a vicious cycle, but it's all he can do until she either comes around or keels over, so why not?

One day, however, she pushes past him and runs away in a blur, and he feels a pull to help her. He ignores said pull all day, because he's trying this new thing where he doesn't publicly embarrass himself and tarnish his reputation (though he hardly cares about it anymore, as it's mostly gone anyway) – that is, until glee, when he notices she still isn't back. He asks Mr. Schue, who's busy with an annoyed-beyond-belief-as-usual Rachel and just waves him off, if he can go look around for her; he stuffs his hands in his pockets as he strolls the halls, then makes his way outside. He isn't sure what she's driving these days, but he quickly realizes that doesn't actually matter, because she's sitting in his car.

She's slouched down in the passenger seat, rooting through his glove box (he'd assume looking for tissues; all she's going to find are condoms and nun chucks, though – tough break) while her shoulders shake up and down. Her hair is a mess –as opposed to it's usual state of nice, flowing waves that he's grown accustomed to – and her nose is running.

She must realize that she won't be finding any tissues in the glove compartment, because she throws a handful of condoms at the windshield and he sees her scream out in anger.

If it weren't so depressing, all that anger would be damn sexy.

She has tears in her eyes, rolling down her cheeks and off her chin, when he sees that she's noticed him watching her. She freezes, mouth slightly open, tears wetting her cheeks, and reaches to open the door, to get out.

He wants her to. He wishes he would just let her get out and come over to him, and let him help her – but it's not that easy, and it won't happen that fast. He's not ready for her to be at all okay when he's nowhere close to it.

So he shakes his head, leaving her there to cry in his car.


	23. 023: Alcohol

**A/N:** I've been writing in class, which is bad, but all my professors seem to think that assigning a reading means they also have to read it during their next session, and it's annoying to listen to it being re-read – therefore, you guys should love me for doing my homework, cause I get more of this done ;) I actually like this one. It makes me think of the movie Crazy Heart (amazing movie - see it if you haven't), even though it has absolutely nothing to do with it. Anyway, let me know what you think, I love it when you do :)

**Title: **_Fleeting Moments_**  
Author: **_sparklinglemonade_**  
Rating:** _M_**  
Summary: **_Noah Puckerman isn't a good person – he's an ass, a studly sex-shark – but when it comes to Quinn Fabray he tends to have his moments._**  
Genre: **_Angst/Drama_**  
Chapter:** _Twenty Three_

**Alcohol**

One morning he realizes Beth is turning six months old in a matter of hours; so he turns to alcohol instead of her for solace.

He hates Jack Daniels, (mainly because it was his Dad's drink of choice), but loves the way it tastes. His extra bottle that's stashed in a plastic bag behind the Clorox under his bathroom sink has a big of a dent in it, primarily from his last few attempts at forgetting Beth's past small birthdays, but it'll do for now. He clicks the lock on his bedroom door and pulls out the bottle, then his guitar.

He drinks in the dark for a while, plucking strings to form a dark and depressing mood, and once he's buzzed he hums along, feeling a little bit less. His sister knocks on his door when she gets home from school, saying that mom is worried about him and he should come out now. He backs something only slightly nicer than "Fuck off, brat," and hears her run off to cry to the mother.

Later, (who knows how much, his clock stopped working at 3:28 when he smashed it,) he hears a buzzing, tweeting noise from his pocket and figures out his phone's been ringing on and off for hours. He finds it and manages to answer, "huh?"

"I'm not okay today," she whispers, "and you hate me."

"Not now," he mumbles, setting down his guitar and sitting on the floor. "I can't," he takes a long sip from the bottle, and then loosely screws on the top.

"What?" She asks, "You can't what?" She sounds strange, but he's too drunk to care the way he should.

"No you today," he growls, but the phone remains pressed to his ear.

"I'm not good," she continues, "I'm awful."

"I know," he says, ignoring her and putting his finger on what's wrong, "you're sober."

She lets out a strangled laugh, "and you're drunk."

"I can't save you today," he takes another long sip, listening to the quiet, "previous engagement."

"I know," she breathes, "but can I save you?"

"Can you save yourself instead?" The line is silent for a while. They breathe.

"Probably not," she answers.

"I can't talk to you today," he concludes, sighing, and he hears her breath hitch.

"Okay," she exhales, and her voice cracks.

He sits, the phone to his ear, and thrums out tunes on the guitar until the bottle is empty, and the line goes dead.


	24. 024: Mask

**A/N:** The only word that comes to mind when I think of this one is iffy. I've had an awful day so if this reflects my sadness right now, I hope it at least came out okay to read. Review?

**Title: **_Fleeting Moments_**  
Author: **_sparklinglemonade_**  
Rating:** _M_**  
Summary: **_Noah Puckerman isn't a good person – he's an ass, a studly sex-shark – but when it comes to Quinn Fabray he tends to have his moments._**  
Genre: **_Angst/Drama_**  
Chapter:** _Twenty Four_

**Mask**

It's like she's wearing a mask when he sees her now – he notices her, but through the haze she's built around herself he barely recognizes her anymore (that is, until she wants him to). He's sick of it, and at the moment he's sick of her – she needs to know that. She needs to know that she can't expect him to half-ass taking care of her – if he's going to do it, he's going to do it all the way, and if he's not going to do it, he's going to need her to ignore him so he can take care of _himself_.

He writes her an overly emotional and extra depressing note – the type of thing you'd never expect from him (and neither would she) – then drops it into her locker. She's been coming to school whilst discernibly drunk and all of the teachers have been turning the other cheek, which he can't quite understand because if she's depressed enough to come to school drunk, don't you think they'd do something about it? He's been getting pulled out of class daily to "take her home" - or whatever Ms. Pillsbury makes up when she gets Quinn sent down to her office due to the non-stopping-once-it-starts crying in class - and it's really starting to depress him to see her like this. She ignores him at school, and then when she needs him he's supposed to drop everything – which he does – but she never acknowledges him for doing so. She never thanks him, never notices that he's hurting too, nothing.

He's pissed, and he's depressed, and he fucking hates it, so he leaves her the note and walks away. In fourth period, when he's buzzed down to Ms. Pillsbury's office, he tells his Bio II teacher that it'll be detrimental to his studying if he goes and ignores it, because he knows that the letter won't mean shit to her if he just goes and saves her. He sits in his desk, and lets himself hurt for once.

_Quinn,_

_I've been growing closer and closer to hating you as the days go by, and it needs to stop because I know that I _don't_ hate you._

_I _do_ hate saving you. I _do_ hate that you aren't strong enough to save yourself, and I _do _hate that you did this to us. You ruined us, you forced us to do this and you ruined everything. I know you made the best decision for Beth (yes, I said her name, __**Beth**__,) but when you did, I figured you realized what you were doing – you knew how it would affect you, and how you would handle it. _

_I figured you would take it a lot better than this. I figured I would take it a lot better than this, too, but you don't realize how bad it's been on me, do you?_

_You aren't letting us heal – you're making everything worse and getting drunk, trying to forget about all the pain you're feeling, but you don't realize that you have to let yourself feel that pain. You have to stop, and from now on you have to do it alone because I'm not going to be at your beckon call anymore – I'm not going to sit here and watch you die. I'm fucking done saving you, letting you kill yourself the way you have been – so heal. Let us heal. Feel the pain – be sad for a while, but not like this._

_I love you, Quinn. That's not going to change, but you have to; you need to realize that, and you need to love yourself. Once that's done, talk to me._

_Puck._


	25. 025: Mistake

**A/N:** First, welcome to my tiny glimmer of hope shinig through the cracks of doom and dread that is this story. Second, this chapter:

is one that I've been waiting to write _forever_ (!)

marks the one quarter mark of this story (!), and

is the most number of chapters I've ever written for one story (!)

I feel like I'm so dedicated to this, even though they're all short little nuggets…I love writing it, & I'm excited to keep it going! Review?

**Title: **_Fleeting Moments_**  
Author: **_sparklinglemonade_**  
Rating:** _M_**  
Summary: **_Noah Puckerman isn't a good person – he's an ass, a studly sex-shark – but when it comes to Quinn Fabray he tends to have his moments._**  
Genre: **_Angst/Drama_**  
Chapter:** _Twenty Five_

**Mistake**

One night, they make a mistake. It's a tangle of lips and limbs, of anger and sadness and disappointment and bitterness, rolling around on his bedroom floor.

He's not quite sure how they got from him ignoring her to this, but he realizes it's happened somewhere between the time she's screaming at him in the parking lot of Sheets 'n' Things (in a bad way), screaming in his ear (in a good way), and when she's screaming in his arms (again, in a bad way). She must have nightmares or something, some real demons – then again, why wouldn't she – because she screams and yells and cries, startling him awake.

He runs his fingers through her hair, whispering softly into her ear until she quiets down and just cries in his arms. When she falls asleep again, he gets up carefully and tip toes out of the room. He has no idea what he should do – get back in his bed and go to sleep, ignoring the fact that they just had angry, slutty sex, or lay down on the couch and analyze everything that just happened (and worry about it). Should he wait for her to wake up and freak out they way he knows she will? He opts for the bed, since his Mother and sister won't be home until late tomorrow morning, and he doesn't want her to wake up alone, or have any more night terrors (whatever that was, it was way more than a nightmare). He slowly crawls back into his bed, hoping she'll stay sleeping; he's finally made it under the covers and sighs, content with his current place.

"Where'd you go?" she asks, sleepily, smiling as he frowns at her.

"Kitchen," he answers, "I thought you were sleeping."

"No, I noticed when you left," she mentions, "are you…okay with what just happened?"

"The creepy night terror, or the slutty angry sex?"

"The sex," she answers bluntly, "the terrors are probably the least of your worries."

"…no, and yes," he responds, "I'm not, because we're so shitty right now," (subtext: _you_ are so shitty right now, I'm simply managing with you,) "but I am, cause I'm Puck-osaurus, and I don't do that."

"Do what?" she questions, yawning.

"Analyze," he responds, even though he does (and is). She snorts.

"You're a liar," she says, and faces him, "but it's fine, because lately so am I," this time he snorts.

"Am I going to be okay? Are we?" she whispers, after they've been lying in a sober silence for a while.

He doesn't respond, pretends to be asleep, because if he answers she'll know he's lying.

She kisses his cheek softly, and whispers, "I'm going to try and make sure we will…that I will, okay?"

She lays her head on his chest. God, he hopes so.


	26. 026: Suspicion

**A/N:** & the glimmer continues? What is this you speak of? Crazy…review? PS, _I must confess, that my lonliness is killing me noooooow, don't you know I still believe?_

**Title: **_Fleeting Moments_**  
Author: **_sparklinglemonade_**  
Rating:** _M_**  
Summary: **_Noah Puckerman isn't a good person – he's an ass, a studly sex-shark – but when it comes to Quinn Fabray he tends to have his moments._**  
Genre: **_Angst/Drama_**  
Chapter:** _Twenty Six_

**Suspicion**

The morning after, he's suspicious of her strange calmness. She's not yelling at him, or crying (even after their little conversation and her little promise, he was sure she'd crack come sunrise) – she's making eggs and pancakes in his kitchen while chatting amicably with his Mother.

He stares at her in confusion as she laughs, then approaches her from behind, "what are you doing?"

"…cooking?" she states, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world.

"No," he shakes his head, "what are you doing _here_?"

"…I slept here," she says, and laughs at him, "Why are you acting so weird?"

"Noah, be polite," his mother scolds, pointing a finger at him, but he ignores it.

"I'm not the one acting weird right now, Quinn," he says, but she ignores him and continues to flip pancakes.

They eat breakfast in silence (well he and Quinn are silent, while his mother describes how awful his Grandmother's hospitality was,) – him staring at her in confusion as she simultaneously politely listens, hums in sympathy, and shoots daggers at him from across the table with her emerald eyes.

"Noah," his mother says loudly, shaking him from his confusion, "you're not eating – what's wrong?"

He knows better than to shrug her off, so he picks up his fork and eats some eggs, smiling at her, "I'm fine, Ma."

"Good," she smiles, and then turns back to Quinn. After breakfast, he drags Quinn upstairs to his room by her wrist, "_What_ do you think you're doing?"

"…I was watching TV with your sister? You were there, too?" she asks confusedly, shaking him off of her.

"You expect me to believe you're just…normal now? I don't buy that for a second, Quinn." She rolls her eyes.

"That's what this is about?" she sits on the bed and pats the spot next to her. He complies, just because he wants an explanation, though – not because she's creepily alluring right now, "Listen, I know I've been weird lately, but…last night was just something I needed. When I got your letter I flipped out, and when you actually kept your word about it, I got angry. I knew you were right, but…well I didn't know how to say it. So I yelled at you, and then we had sex, and now I think I'm okay today. Tomorrow? I don't know, but for this moment, I'm okay, and that's way better than I've been in a long time."

He still doesn't buy it – one time with him doesn't change the fact that she's been three-quarters of the way to dead for the past six months – but he lets her think he does.

She'll crack – he knows she will. And as they head back downstairs, he knows all he can do is get himself ready for it.


	27. 027: Disagreement

**A/N:** …bye bye, light. The dark is so much more dangerous. I didn't have much of a plan for this, so it's kind of just a lot of emotional rambling, but I suppose I like it. Review?

**Title: **_Fleeting Moments_**  
Author: **_sparklinglemonade_**  
Rating:** _M_**  
Summary: **_Noah Puckerman isn't a good person – he's an ass, a studly sex-shark – but when it comes to Quinn Fabray he tends to have his moments._**  
Genre: **_Angst/Drama_**  
Chapter:** _Twenty Seven_

**Disagreement**

It's the slightest disagreement that sets her off, just the way he figured it would. He complains to her that she's leaning too hard on his shoulder, and that gets her off and running. He's confused, but not at all surprised – he figured it would be something more baby-related to get her to actually snap out of it, but this will do.

She stands, screaming at him, and he just watches. He wishes someone was there with him, _this isn't even the best part_, he'd say, _it's going to get better _(technically, though, it was going to get worse, but in the way of entertainment, it was about to get _so _much better) _watch_.

She yells, stalking through the house and storming up the stairs to the room they've shared for the past few nights. He follows, only half way listening to the jumbled mess of words she's spewing at him because he's heard them all before. He's inconsiderate, he's an ass, he's a terrible, horrible, disgusting shell of a human being, he knows.

He wants to tell her that things don't really have to be this way, but he's got the sneaking suspicion that she knows that already. She knows that they could be a somewhat normal, functioning couple. They could have a child, or they could not, they could go out on date night and be kind of happy (albeit in a false sort of way), or they could sit in his bedroom and pass a bottle of Jack between them, pretending to be less tortured than they actually are. They could have some semblance of a relationship, and in this moment he realizes that she knows they could have that – she just doesn't know what she'd do with it at this point.

The way he sees it (the way he's presuming she also see's it), if they didn't have this thing holding them together – the way he needs to perpetually save her in ever situation and she rejects it, at first, and then succumbs at some point – they would be boring, and normal, and easy. Them being together, sharing a bed and watching television with his sister, her helping his mother with dinner, when there was still this ocean of depression and things left unsaid between them? That, to her (and him), was not going to be the way they spent their relationship. They were passionate, and the way things have been? It isn't passion, and he realizes that. He knows that they need more than boring, more than being together simplistically – they need to be passionate about each other, passionate about what they think and do. They need to be passionate about how they are with each other, and just glazing over everything after their one night together was not the way either of them wanted to go about it.

He also knows if she wasn't doing this, though, he would've just sailed through and let them pretend.

She starts throwing her things together, tossing them haphazardly into a duffel bag she's stolen from his closet, and continues yelling at him with tears running down her cheeks. She says things, probably mean things, but he isn't listening. He's thinking of an alternate universe where this isn't her life – where it isn't his life, either. Where he doesn't have to fucking fish her off the side of the cliff she's hanging from every damn day, and where he doesn't have to _keep_ doing it because he loves her more than he loves himself. He realizes he's being an idiot, but it's not like he can stop – he can't manage to do anything without her now, even if she is this fucked up, and he knows that. He can't stop her, though, either.

She just won't listen. She notices he's not paying attention to her in the slightest and glares at him. She says something about him not caring, and he laughs in her face.

"Don't fucking tell me I don't care, Quinn. You don't fucking care – I care for the both of us, and you know it. Now make your dramatic fucking exit, cause we both know it's coming."

She slaps him, and it doesn't hurt (the handprint on his face will probably sting a bit later,) - but when she walks out, shoulders shaking, and says to leave her the fuck alone? To never speak to her again, and to stop saving her and just let her fucking die like she wants to?

That's what hurts.


	28. 028: Assignment

**A/N:** The last chapter was so angsty, (ha, but that's why I loved it) and this one is…well, I'll let you figure that out. PS, I love Finchel, the mini-rant kind of just came out…Songs I used in the chapter (I promise, I didn't do much of the italicized-lyric-thing, it bugs me) are going to be listed at the bottom. Please review, I love to hear your thoughts!

**Title: **_Fleeting Moments_**  
Author: **_sparklinglemonade_**  
Rating:** _M_**  
Summary: **_Noah Puckerman isn't a good person – he's an ass, a studly sex-shark – but when it comes to Quinn Fabray he tends to have his moments._**  
Genre: **_Angst/Drama_**  
Chapter:** _Twenty Eight_

**Assignment**

Mr. Schue gives them an easy assignment: sing someone a meaningful message. He's got a feeling that Schuester can tell Quinn's a damn mess, and he's having an awful time taking care of it, hence the assignment, but it could all be in his imagination. Regardless of the back-story, he's never finished something for glee so quickly.

As always, Rachel volunteers almost immediately, and grates on his every last nerve as she explains _why_ she'll be singing the song "Little House" from the motion pictureDear John (because she's made a mistake and somehow alienated Finn, shocker, and wants him to know that she's here for him, always – blah blah blah, god it's always the same story with them. They're perfect, sure, but Rachel's such a damn narcissist that if he wasn't so wrapped up in his own problems he'd go over to that creepy palace she calls a bedroom and scream at her to shut the hell up – she's got _Finn_, the most popular guy in school, and she just treats him like shit all the time, like _shut up_) before belting it and continually making everyone else in Glee feel inferior.

He listens to the words, something about being haunted without you, and feels like it's describing his life – which he hates, because it makes him normal and cliché, but whatever. He hasn't talked to Quinn in over a week and a half, and even though he sees her he can tell how much worse off she's been since their fight – she looks shittier than he does, which is significantly awful considering how he usually looks (awesome), and he figures the staggering she's been doing isn't because of lack of sleep. He can't see her face during Rachel's song, but he figures it's for the best because if he feels like _he's_ going to start crying, he has no idea what she'll be like.

Finn goes next and sings a weird stripped down Cobra Starship song that he's heard him listen to a few times before, and has to admit sounds pretty good. Rachel cries, and he rolls his eyes (Puck, not Finn, Finn hugs her and tells her he loves her) at her over-dramatics. He's about to raise his hand to volunteer to go next when he see's Quinn's hand go up. She asks if she can go, and Mr. Schue says they'll start with Quinn tomorrow.

He's annoyed, clearly, but he goes along with it because he really wants to know what she's going to say to him – she's going to say it to him, right?

When she gets up the next day, she drags a stool to the middle of the room and sighs, "I know," she looks around at the glee kids, "you all think I'm this big mess – and I am, but I know that I'm a mess. And…lately things suck, and I just don't know what else I can say to you, but…here it goes."

She's swaying a little on the chair as the guitar starts, and she stares at him as she sings about how she believes that he'll save her, how no one heals her like he does, and it gets him annoyed. How many times can he save her before she starts doing it herself? Why does she think he'd been ignoring her in the first place, because he wanted to? It was for her own good, and she doesn't seem to get that. She's in tears when she finishes, and she begins to go out of the room, but he stands.

"You're going to hear this," he says, and sits her on her chair on the risers. He pulls the stool close to her chair and balances his guitar in his lap. "This song is self-explanatory, okay Mr. Schue? It's a meaningful message to Quinn."

Mr. Schue nods, and he starts to play, his eyes boring in to hers.

_All this feels strange and untrue_

_And I won't waste a minute without you_

_My bones ache, my skin feels cold_

_And I'm getting so tired and so old_

Her eyes harden, jaw stiffens up, but he keeps his gaze locked onto hers and makes sure she hears what he's saying – that she understands it.

_The anger swells in my guts_

_And I won't feel these slices and cuts_

_I want so much to open your eyes_

'_Cause I need you to look into mine_

_Tell me that you'll open your eyes_

_Tell me that you'll open your eyes_

_Tell me that you'll open your eyes_

_Tell me that you'll open your eyes_

Her eyes are tearing more now, but she keeps staring at him and he figured she'd have run out by now – he didn't plan on this lasting so long, so he keeps singing and staring and she complies through the whole song. He plucks out the last few notes, and she sniffles, then gets up and runs from the room.

"I think she got it," Mr. Schue comments, and pats him on the back. He thinks she did, too – knows it, actually, but what she'll do with it? He has no idea.

**A/N 2:** Songs used (in order): "Little House" – Amanda Seyfried, "The World Has It's Shine (But I Would Drop It On A Dime)" – Cobra Starship, "I Shall Believe" – Sheryl Crow, & "Open Your Eyes" – Snow Patrol. Go Listen! :)


	29. 029: Purple

**A/N: **I love everyone that reads, I really do, but I get hits and no reviews and it just makes me sad. Review if you like something, or you don't, or whatever – they make this worth it :) PS, I'm infuriated to even _think_ there would be such a thing as Sam & Quinn. It actually pains me – literal physical pain. OH, and I'm thrilled with my life because emilyforprez (a wonderful author, check her out if you haven't yet) alerted me! I was pumped, so thanks! This one makes me sad, but what else is new?

**Title: **_Fleeting Moments_**  
Author: **_sparklinglemonade_**  
Rating:** _M_**  
Summary: **_Noah Puckerman isn't a good person – he's an ass, a studly sex-shark – but when it comes to Quinn Fabray he tends to have his moments._**  
Genre: **_Angst/Drama_**  
Chapter:** _Twenty Nine_

**Purple**

He puts the only picture he has of Beth in her locker – a shot of the baby screaming, face purple, her small hands balled into fists on the side of her chest. He thinks it will help – little does he know it makes it worse.

She finds him in his car, where he's been waiting for her, and he watches her get in, waiting for the door to be shut and her to settle before he starts talking.

Unfortunately, she beats him to it. "How dare you leave this for me," she says quietly, sadness dripping from her words as she throws the picture at him, "when I've been trying so damn hard." 

He laughs, "Right, you telling me to help you is the same as you trying." Is she kidding? He wanted her to realize he hurts just as much as she does, but she clearly hasn't gotten what he wanted out of the picture – she seems to understand very few things as of late (mostly personal attacks, and betrayals).

"I'm asking for your fucking help," she keeps her voice steady, even though there are tears running down her cheeks, "and you're saying no. You always fucking say no, now, and I don't know what the hell I did to deserve it."

He manages to hold the laugh back this time, "I've been trying to help you, even though at this point you really don't deserve it," he throws the words in her face and she cringes at their harshness, "and every time you either push me away, or make me feel terrible about it. I told you, I don't want to help you anymore – I want you to help yourself. The reason I put that picture in your locker was to show you that I'm upset too, I feel terrible about this too, and you're not the only person this is fucking effecting."

"It's not the same," she growls, "she didn't grow inside of you for nine fucking months, Puck," his name comes out of her mouth like a poison arrow, piercing him and paralyzing him on contact, "you didn't bond with her like I did, you didn't sit around for hours and talk to her, and just feel her move, it wasn't the same for you."

"It wasn't the same," he agrees, "but it was just as fucking powerful, okay? I understand you're going through a lot of shit because of this, and I know why – I get it, and I'm the only fucking one who's going to get it."

"No," she cries, her words barely making it up past the surface of her tears enough to be heard, "you don't get it, _you don't_."

"You believe what you want," he says, "but I fucking understand, and until you get that through your thick fucking skull, you shouldn't even bother. Just drink your fucking booze and slash your damn wrists for all I care – until you get it, you can't expect me to fix you." He thinks for a second, "as a matter of fact, you can't _ever_ expect me to fucking _fix _you. You're going to have to fix you, and I'm going to have to fix me – it won't work any other way."

"Fuck you," she grits her teeth, "I fucking _never _want to talk to you again."

"Only so many times you can say that before the threat wears off," he mumbles and she glares at him.

"I mean it," she says, "don't fucking talk to me. Don't look at me. Don't even _think_ about me, you jackass."

"Do you understand how much easier my life would be right now if I were doing that?" he doesn't really want to say it, but he does and he can tell she's surprised, "do you? You don't think there have been moments where I want to tell you to go the fuck ahead and kill yourself? I know you fucking want to! Clearly my better self knows better than to just _tell_ you to do these things but Jesus, if you don't think I've fucking thought about it, you're stupider than I thought."

"Fuck you," she remains calm, tears racing down her cheeks, "I fucking hate you, I wish you'd never spoken to me. Have a wonderful fucking life, you dick." She gets out of the car and slams the door, he bangs on the steering wheel and lets out a scream. He looks up and notices she's watching him, eyes aglow in anger and sadness and pain.

He stares right back at her and wonders what the fuck just happened, then throws the car in reverse and backs away, wondering if this is really how it ends.


	30. 030: June

**A/N: **Chapter. Thirty. (!) I re-wrote this one twice and I'm actually starting to like it.

**Title: **_Fleeting Moments_**  
Author: **_sparklinglemonade_**  
Rating:** _M_**  
Summary: **_Noah Puckerman isn't a good person – he's an ass, a studly sex-shark – but when it comes to Quinn Fabray he tends to have his moments._**  
Genre: **_Angst/Drama_**  
Chapter:** _Thirty_

**June**

He's wrong, (about how it ends, that is).

It's June when they speak again (face to face, that is). He smiles at her during one of the final glee practices of the year when Mr. Schue says something that reminds him of her ("it looks sweet and innocent, but it'll hit you where it hurts – and that's the kind of emotion we _want_ to see"), and he decides that after practice would be a good time to ask about the calls.

He assumes that it's her (even though it comes from a restricted number,) because there's never any answer. It's grown into a routine, every night around eleven (since new years eve) his phone rings, and they breathe. There's no talking, no forgiveness or fighting, but sometimes she cries, sometimes he plays his guitar, sometimes they sleep.

They've yet to speak – it's become an old habit by now.

He waits for her outside of glee while she gets all her things (which takes a while – Santana is in the Bahamas with her parents and Brittany had been attached to Quinn at the hip), and as she passes he grabs her arm.

"Hey," is the eloquence he uses to reunite their real line of communication. She smiles at him.

"Hey," she says softly, "how are you?"

"I've…been better," he lets go of her wrist and runs a hand over his shaved head of peach-fuzz, "but I guess I've been worse, too…what about you?"

"Carting around Brittany is like I'm taking care of a ba-," she stops, eyes wide, then smoothes her skirt and sighs, "are we going to do this? Pretend we don't know each other and we've never spoken before?"

"Like we do every night?" He asks, and her eyes go wide again, "I know its you…I think you already knew that I knew it was you."

"Yeah," she breathes, "I…uh,"

"It's fine," he smiles, "we should…maybe start talking to each other? I like hearing you breathe, and all, but your voice is a hell of a lot better for me to listen to." She blushes, and he grins, it's like she has real emotions or something now.

"Are you really doing better?" she asks, and he nods. "Good. I miss you," she smiles.

The silence is almost awkward enough to be unbearable, but he's happy with it – it's silence from speaking, not silence from silence, and that's an improvement. He feels like they're the divorced couple who are still in love, just driven apart by outside sources – and in a way, they are. Do those couples ever really reconcile? He isn't quite sure, but considering they aren't married or divorced (yet), he's keeping his fingers crossed. It's not that either of them really has their shit together – they don't, he's more damn depressed day after day and clearly she has yet to alleviate her own depression, though the showing-up-to-school-drunk thing has ceased (which was amazing to him, considering he hasn't been around to stop it), which is a start – it's that they've taken time (at least he has) to figure out what the hell they want with each other, and it's a good way for them to begin again.

It's strange, how they can pick up together after six (long, torturous, unbelievably depressing) months and act like two normal people who don't share this incredible sorrow somewhere between them. On one hand, it makes him think they were destined in this cosmic, strange way where real things don't fully intrude or take away from their emotions. On the other hand, the first hand is far too homo for him to even _think _about, and he excuses himself from her with a "talk to you tonight," so he can go beat on some kid to make himself feel masculine.

(It pisses him off when that doesn't work and he has to drive himself knowing that he's whipped beyond belief).


	31. 031: Calculating

**A/N: **Is anyone else obsessively listening to the Taylor Swift song "Speak Now"? I am, I think it's adorable. This one's really about establishing the next part of the story; it's cutsey and short, but I like it. Review? Tell me, what do you think?

**Title: **_Fleeting Moments_**  
Author: **_sparklinglemonade_**  
Rating:** _M_**  
Summary: **_Noah Puckerman isn't a good person – he's an ass, a studly sex-shark – but when it comes to Quinn Fabray he tends to have his moments._**  
Genre: **_Angst/Drama_**  
Chapter:** _Thirty One_

**Calculating**

He's been calculating how long it will take her to talk to him again when his phone rings, and her name flashes across the screen. It isn't much of a conversation – lots of awkward pausing and nervous laughing, and in the morning he doesn't remember much of it – but it's something.

They start to talk at night, now. They tell each other about their days and pretend they're not drunken messes. Sometimes she cries and he tells her it's fine when it's not; sometimes they ignore what's staring them in the face (Beth) for as long as humanly possible.

Sometimes they stick to breathing.

On the night before the last day of school, he decides to ask her, "so when are we going to start spending time together?" He's been thinking about it more than he assumes is healthy, but apparently she hasn't as her breath hitches and she lets a long pause fall over the conversation. "Come on, Quinn…we sit here on the phone and talk every night, and then we ignore each other all the next day like is was a one night stand instead of just facing the fact that we know close enough to everything about each other."

He can feel her grinning into the receiver after a sensible amount of time has passed, "I think we might be able to arrange it," she laughs, "The spending time together in person thing, I mean."

He laughs, "I was really afraid there for a moment," the sarcasm doesn't miss her and she groans.

"If this is what hanging out with you is going to be like, I really doubt I'll be able to commit to it," she laughs.

He chuckles, "I like you like this," he says, after a beat or two, "normal and funny…it's how you used to be."

"Better," she corrects, "than I used to be." They realize it's mostly a lie – she's the same as she has been for a while, in certain ways, but he supposes it _is _slightly better, so he goes with it. "Are you cleaning pools over the summer?"

"Nah," he answers, "I won't make the same bank without the Cougars being able to get on this, so I'm just going to stay at Sheets 'n' Things."

"I'm not sure whether to be touched or disgusted," she laughs.

They've stayed like this, scratching the surface, for weeks now, and while it's pleasant for them to float happily above their problems, he realizes eventually it will probably get bad again – eventually they will have to submerge themselves and try to fight their way back up.

He's sure it will be awful – a mess of his sadness and her sadness overflowing; drowning both of them completely – but hopefully they can make their way out and try to find each other.

He just hopes they can both manage to swim.


	32. 032: Fall

**A/N:** oh, friendship. This one came out a little (or, you know, a lot) different than the original intention, but I think I actually like this better. I'd really love reviews, I'm having a bad week :(

**Title: **_Fleeting Moments_**  
Author: **_sparklinglemonade_**  
Rating:** _M_**  
Summary: **_Noah Puckerman isn't a good person – he's an ass, a studly sex-shark – but when it comes to Quinn Fabray he tends to have his moments._**  
Genre: **_Angst/Drama_**  
Chapter:** _Thirty Two_

**Fall**

He's fallen for her, and though he's known that for a long time, he thinks it's really starting to hit him now that they're in contact again.

When he hears her voice, now, it's more than a quick sweeping thing, _oh, I really love this girl_, and it's a huge thing that manages to weave itself into everything else he does. He thinks about it at work, while Finn complains about Rachel's tendency to show up at his house in her work out gear and then complain when he won't keep his hands off of her, and notices the different kind of love they've acquired. Finn's is easy – he's bitching about nothing, but this thing with him and Quinn? It's heavy, and it's deep, and it's tortured.

It's weird, too, because he can't talk about it with Finn (not that he wants to, but if he did want to he couldn't) – their friendship isn't in the shambles that it had been, but it wasn't necessarily back to normal. He'd gotten his best friend's girlfriend pregnant, and whether it's been a year or five years, he really doesn't think that whole portion of time and betrayal will ever fully be forgotten. He won't ever fully be forgiven, and he gets that – he can live with it. He did something shady, and now he's got to live with the consequences. The problem is that if he needs to ask for help with Quinn, the only person he seems to have to talk to is Hummel, and there's about a two percent chance that he'll talk to Kurt in public without calling him something offensive or bruising him, so it's really out of the question.

He decides against his better judgment the day after he and Quinn had decided to start hanging out again, and finds Finn in the section of massage chairs, his head tilted back and feet up, "Dude," Finn cracks an eye open, "Mrs. Schuester's going to kill you."

"No, I think she likes me," he mumbles, then pats the chair next to him, "these chairs are awesome, try it."

Puck rolls his eyes but sits next to Finn and folds his arms, "Would it be weird if I…asked you something?"

Finn looks at him in confusion, "I don't know, are you going to ask me out? Cause you know I'm with Rachel," Puck glares at him as Finn chuckles.

"About Quinn," Puck supplies, and Finn nods slowly.

"You're a lot better with Quinn then I ever was, man," he says, shifting in the chair. Puck asks what he means and he thinks for a moment, "Like, if she complained about something, I'd just change it because she was Quinn Fabray – but you…you see through her bull shit, you know? You don't let her walk all over you."

"Yeah, I do," Puck says, "just not in public, and not about stupid stuff."

"She was a different person when we were together, but I guess I could try and help you out."

Puck explains that he loves Quinn, (though he doesn't use those exact words) and that he doesn't know how to make their relationship less…fake. He says things with him and Quinn aren't as easy as things with Finn and Rachel seem, and Finn laughs.

"You think Rachel is _easy_?" Finn's eyes go wide, "Yesterday she made me run lines with her for her summer production of _Evita _– she's playing Evita," he brags a little, smiling distantly before resuming his annoyed story, "and when we were done she barely even kissed me before shoving me out the door because of her voice lessons. She's really driven, and I love that about her, but…it's like sometimes it's too much. It makes it suck when I want to make out or whatever, because you know she's going to be too busy for it."

"It's not that kind of hard, Finn…Quinn is different," Puck rolls his eyes, "she has bigger problems than not being able to get to first," he can't help but pout his lips slightly and flex – he's still Puck, after all.

Finn looks at Puck confusedly, and Puck sighs, "she has these huge problems, and they all stem from being depressed about the baby…I don't know how to help her – and it sucks, cause it's not like it's a problem at this moment in time, but I know it's going to pop up eventually."

"You can't help her with something like that, man…" Finn slaps him on the back, "she's got to do it herself, and she's gonna drag you into it cause she knows you love her."

Puck coughs, but doesn't say anything.

"Listen," Finn says, "I doubt I'll ever fully be over what happened with you and Quinn, but…look at it this way – if _I_ were the one handling this, she probably wouldn't be alive right now, so I say the fact that you are the way you are with her, it makes everything more or less okay. I'm in love with Rachel, you're in love with Quinn, and we're horribly whipped, but I guess it was all part of the plan."

Puck coughs again, the stands and slaps Finn on the shoulder. Before he goes back to the pile of towels he's supposed to be folding, he grins, "if I didn't know any better, I'd say you were going homo explosion on me, Hudson," and then laughs as he strolls away.


	33. 033: Cry

**A/N:** suggested mood music: Brooklyn – Wakey!Wakey!. It doesn't really clearly relate, but in little ways that exist in my head, it does. Reviews make my days happy :)

**Title: **_Fleeting Moments_**  
Author: **_sparklinglemonade_**  
Rating:** _M_**  
Summary: **_Noah Puckerman isn't a good person – he's an ass, a studly sex-shark – but when it comes to Quinn Fabray he tends to have his moments._**  
Genre: **_Angst/Drama_**  
Chapter:** _Thirty Three_

**Cry**

It's the first time he's seen her cry about something not baby related, and it's freaking him out. She has her head on his chest and his arms are wrapped around her waist (so small – sure, he's hugged her post baby, but he has to take a minute to realize that she's actually as thin as she is; then he remembers she's a Cheerio and all falls in place), and she's saying something, but he isn't paying attention because he's too freaked out.

She's _crying_ on him when less than an hour ago they hadn't actually seen each other and spoken in months.

Weird.

This wasn't how their first meeting was supposed to go, either. They'd made plans to meet up and have dinner somewhere so they could talk in a public place (something she'd decided they needed to do because "wallowing around will get us nowhere, Puckerman,") during the week, but he'd found her in his passenger seat when he got out of work that night – around eleven, which was cruel and unusual punishment for someone who had simply arranged the decorative soaps to spell out an array of swear words – tears in her eyes and her bare feet up on the dash. He'd looked at her confusedly until she got out of the vehicle, walked over to him and buried her head into his chest.

He has no idea why she's crying – she'd blubbered something and he'd nodded accordingly, shushing her like he would a child – but it's so weird to see her like this when lately she's looked so…put together. It kind of makes him want to cry, and bury his face in her hair and smell her shampoo. He figures he can get away with that, without the tears that is, and he does. He presses his lips to the top of her head as she sniffles and manages to get herself a little under control.

Everything's weird.

He manages to get her calm enough to get back into the car, then closes the door and gets in himself. He slides her legs over the center console and puts them in his lap, rubbing the bare skin and watching as she slides the should-be-skin-tight black shorts higher up on her waist. She looks frail, but he knows Coach Sylvester has been on the Cheerios about maintaining her new under-105 pounds mandate, so he's not too concerned with it. She sniffs as he starts the engine, driving with one hand and tracing patterns on her legs with the other. When he finally arrives in front of her house, she's sitting on the center console with her head resting on top of his. It's not the most ideal situation for driving, but he's in Lima, not racing in the Indy 500; she's taking deep breaths, attempting not to cry he figures, and he puts his hand on her back, rubbing circles into it.

There's no words exchanged, but she slides into his lap and he moves the seat back so she can face him comfortably. She stares into his eyes and even though he's uncomfortable with it, he lets her because she's _her_. She runs a finger along his jawbone, tracing his face before pressing her forehead to his and breathing jaggedly along with him. After a few minutes of simply breathing and staring, after this strange not-entirely-but-kind-of-sexual tension has been looming over their heads, he opens his mouth to say something – anything – when she leans down and kisses his upper lip to keep him quiet.

He does (keep quiet, that is).

She smiles, laughing quietly to herself, then presses a kiss to his forehead before slipping off of his lap and out of the car. She runs her thumb along his cheek and around his wide chin before kissing his cheek and shutting the door.

"Thanks," she says quietly through the open window, and then walks up her front steps and into her house before he can respond.

He stares for a few minutes, confused, at the door after it shuts, shakes his head, and then starts his ignition and pulls away.


	34. 034: Relief

**A/N:** **suggested mood music:** total eclipse of the heart – glee version. Turn around, bright eyes, & review this chapter ;) (_**sub a/n:**_ I hope this doesn't suck. I'm hung over, and I didn't feel like checking to see if it was relevant…I think it is, though. Crossing my fingers…)

**Title: **_Fleeting Moments_**  
Author: **_sparklinglemonade_**  
Rating:** _M_**  
Summary: **_Noah Puckerman isn't a good person – he's an ass, a studly sex-shark – but when it comes to Quinn Fabray he tends to have his moments._**  
Genre: **_Angst/Drama_**  
Chapter:** _Thirty Four_

**Relief**

He feels relief wash over him when she calls him the next morning – and a wave of panic when he realizes she's crying again, and she's drunk. It's not like he hasn't heard her drunk lately, he has (a lot), but the night before had been so different…so weird and amazingly normal at the same time.

True, she'd shown up at his job crying, and true, he had no idea why she'd been crying, but it had strangely felt like a real thing they were doing – it felt like they were figuring something out together, or at least that he was really helping her with something…so the call disappoints him. It feels like a step backwards, like whatever happened last night doesn't exist in the real-life daytime world.

"Hey," he says, "what's wrong?" His overwhelming concern is only overshadowed by the fact that crying Quinn, no matter how many times he sees her, is not his forte.

"Pick me up tonight," she says, "after you get out of work." It's not a question, so he doesn't answer, because he knows that she knows that if she says to pick her up then he will. He attempts to figure out what she could possibly want with him all day, and when he gets out of Sheets 'n' Things at nine he drives to her house in record time. She's waiting outside with a water bottle in red Cheerio emblazoned shorts and a thin, black spaghetti strap top, and hops in his car cheerfully. "Hey," she greets, and he stares at her.

"Are you bipolar?" he blurts, then backtracks as a look of horror stretches across her delicate features, "it's not that I really think you're bipolar, it's just…look at you. You're happy, and you called me this morning in tears. You're weird," he finishes, and she snorts at him.

"I'm weird? How long did it take you to get here from Sheets 'n' Things, Puck? Twenty seconds?" She laughs, and he smells the tiniest bit of vodka on her breath. He ignores it.

"Thirty-Five, thanks," he laughs, and smiles at her, "and hi, by the way."

"What a gentleman," she chuckles.

"So," he says, starting the engine, "where to?" She dangles a pair of keys in front of his face, and then snatches them back into her palm.

"William McKinley High School, please," she asks in a fake accent, and he laughs, and then puts the car in drive. Once they reach the school building she hops out, then leads him around the building itself and down to the football field. She unlocks the gate barricading it, and then lets him in from the other side (the side with the bleachers and access to the bathrooms).

They settle on a patch of grass in the middle of the football field, right on the center WMHS emblem between the fifty yard lines. She sips from her water bottle, and he stares at the sky, pretending to pick out constellations he doesn't know and pointing to them. She corrects him, laughing, and after a while they fall into a comfortable silence. "Why'd you bring me here?" he asks, after a long while has passed. Her water bottle is empty, and his eyes are losing for longer and longer periods of time.

"I wanted to see you," she says, and he shakes his head.

"Why'd you _really_ bring me here?" He asks, and she sighs.

"I wanted to see you somewhere you were comfortable," she answers, her voice slurring slightly, "and where else would that be? You're a footballer, aren't you? And you love it here, even though you never talk about it. You love tackling poor innocents even though you'd never say something like that. You love being a macho man around here so I figured I'd make you bring me here and see how you were…how you are."

He smiles at her, then ruffles her hair, "well," he pretends to drawl, "ain't you just sweet as sugar?" She laughs, and they watch the moon as it moves across the sky.


	35. 035: Breath

**A/N:** **Suggested mood music:** not meant to be – theory of a dead man / ghost of a good thing – dashboard confessional / X&Y – coldplay. **Fact:** This is kind of short, but it's setting me up for like twelve chapters to come, which will hopefully be longer. **Assignment:** look for underlying themes present in all songs, or just review. Whichever you prefer ;) (Actually, please just review? Love.)

**Title: **_Fleeting Moments_**  
Author: **_sparklinglemonade_**  
Rating:** _M_**  
Summary: **_Noah Puckerman isn't a good person – he's an ass, a studly sex-shark – but when it comes to Quinn Fabray he tends to have his moments._**  
Genre: **_Angst/Drama_**  
Chapter:** _Thirty Five_

**Breath**

He always makes sure to take a breath before he sees her now; takes a few moments to mentally prepare for the ravaged mess she always seems to be in around him – he figures it's because for her, he's the only reminder of what they've been through.

They've made a habit of the football field – her meeting him when he gets out of work (or, on the nights he doesn't work, him picking her up around the same time) and using her Cheerio's keys to get into the gated field. They sit on the emblem and watch the moon (more accurately she watches the moon while he watches her get drunk – she always brings a water bottle full of whatever her choice that day is, _always_, and most of the time he wishes he had one for himself) and talk. They always circle the topic of Beth, of Shelby, of them, and just have simple conversations – he bitches about work, she bitches about her Mother, and it all works.

Kind of works – sometimes works.

He's pissed she's doing this to him, he wants to shake her and tell her to cut the shit – she's being stupid and he doesn't want to deal with it, or tell her that sometimes he wants to do stupid shit but he can't because she has to – but he doesn't. He doesn't because look at the last time – he told her to stop, and it indirectly led to the demise of their relationship. One plea from him to quit it and she broke, they broke, and it was bad. He figures they need to stay on solid ground for once, and eventually when they're stronger they can see what happens in the water.

As for their nights at the field, they're usually the same in structure. They sit together and talk (sometimes about nothing, sometimes about everything) until she gets too upset and can't handle it anymore. He doesn't usually say much – it hurts – but he lets her know that he's listening. He tells her (once) that she _should_ tell him about it, about whatever she thinks is making her sad, that maybe saying it will make him feel better. She tells him it doesn't – most of the time it makes it worse. Sometimes he drinks with her – on the nights she brings something he likes – but never enough to get him drunk, or barely tipsy. Never enough to make him less numb to the situation, and for that he's thankful.

They both realize this isn't normal (he hopes she does), but maybe, as of now it's kind of standard for them. He likes shat their weird togetherness has a sameness about it – that they have some kind of tradition even if it is really dysfunctional and strange.

The thing about it is, for some reason when they're together it seems to be their clearest moment – he sees her as Quinn more than as the girl who he loves, but is (for lack of a better tem) a hot mess, and he figures she sees him as Puck, the bad boy turned kind of alright. Hopefully maybe one day she'll think of him as Noah, the guy who was worth fixing herself for.


	36. 036: Miserable

**A/N:** **Suggested mood music:** Somewhere Only We Know – Keane

**Title: **_Fleeting Moments_**  
Author: **_sparklinglemonade_**  
Rating:** _M_**  
Summary: **_Noah Puckerman isn't a good person – he's an ass, a studly sex-shark – but when it comes to Quinn Fabray he tends to have his moments._**  
Genre: **_Angst/Drama_**  
Chapter:** _Thirty Six_

**Miserable**

One humid evening she tells him "You look miserable, you should liven up," and shoots him a drunken, crooked smile. He glares at her, lying on the grass, glistening with sweat, a bottle tucked between her ankles.

He glares at her, "You make me miserable," he explains with a smirk. She sighs, and then moves her head so it's resting on his lap.

"Do I really?" she asks, genuine through her fog, and he pretends like he doesn't know what she's asking so he doesn't have to answer. She always knows when he's lying, and whether or not he lies he knows she'll be less than thrilled with his answer, so he just ignores her. Things are always better when he ignores her (is that bad)?

But, if were to answer truthfully, he'd have to say yes – she does make him miserable. She makes him hate her, and makes him mad _all_ the time. She makes him insane, and she has to know she does, but it's weird. She's got him whipped – has since she had his kid – to the point where he's willing to do anything for her. To the point where he's willing to sit here and watch her kill herself just so she doesn't have to do it alone – where he's willing to sacrifice his stud standing for _her_ (which, if she was still herself, would be valid – she was _Quinn Fabray_. Now he's not sure who it's going down for, and though she's still Quinn, he's not sure if she'll ever be the marvel that was _Quinn Fabray _ever again.)

It's almost comical, how much he cares and how little she does.

Not that she doesn't care about him – he knows she does, or she wouldn't be letting him see her like this, but she doesn't care about all the things he's doing for her. She doesn't realize all the things he does, and he knows it sounds all single-mother to say that, but it's true. She doesn't get that he could be doing so many things if he wasn't so invested in making her realize she's killing herself.

(The fact that she's probably getting what she wants – to be in the ground – never leaves his mind, though. No matter how hard he tries, he's sure she'll get whatever she wants, because she always does.)

She smacks his arm, "well?" He's surprised she still knows what they're talking about, "do I?" She's laughing but he can tell she's also on the verge of crying and he wants to slap himself because _what_ is he going to say?

"Well," he starts, looking down at her, blonde hair fanned across his black shorts, "I could ask you the same thing – do I make you miserable?"

She laughs, blinking the tears away, "way to avoid my question," she giggles, then shakes her head, "you make me crazy, sometimes. You make me happy…but never miserable. You could never really make me miserable."

He smiles down at her. Her eyes shine genuinely, like since he's so rarely happy that making him so is such an honor for her. Little does she know, inside his heart his shattering – blood is flowing and sloshing around in his empty, hollow chest and flowing down and around into the pit of his stomach. Maybe he'll explode – maybe then he won't have to feel as much. He runs his hand through his hair, the thick, knotty mess that it is in this heat, and pushes it away from her sweaty forehead.

She laughs, and he keeps running his fingers through her hair, smiling down at her. It's the only thing that seems to keep her happy, and the only thing that seems to keep him alive.

_Please Review!_


	37. 037: Chocolate

**A/N:** **suggested mood music: **Chocolate – Snow Patrol. I threw a few lines from the song in, just fyi. Please review (please?)!

**Title: **_Fleeting Moments_**  
Author: **_sparklinglemonade_**  
Rating:** _M_**  
Summary: **_Noah Puckerman isn't a good person – he's an ass, a studly sex-shark – but when it comes to Quinn Fabray he tends to have his moments._**  
Genre: **_Angst/Drama_**  
Chapter:** _Thirty Seven_

**Chocolate**

They're on the field when it starts to rain and they venture (more accurately, he throws her over his shoulder, runs up the bleachers and tosses her into the passenger side) back to his boat of a car. She looks at him after calming down from a round of giggling, "Can we get chocolate?"

They stop at a convenience store and she runs in, smiling hugely on her way out as she tears open the wrapper. They sit in silence as she breaks small pieces off of a chocolate bar and eats them He takes one out of her hand and pops it in his mouth – she glares at him.

"What?" he asks, his mouth full, laughing at her facial expression.

"What? You took my chocolate – did your mother not teach you never to take a woman's chocolate?" She smacks his arm and he laughs.

"It's the least you can do," he says, once he's finished laughing, "I cart your ass around all the time."

"You do no such thing to my ass, thank you," she laughs. He grins devilishly, and she glares at him mockingly, "You wish," she says, moving so that she's sitting on her knees and facing him. She puts the few squares of chocolate left down on the center console and holds his large hand between her two small ones. He lets her bend his fingers, twist them gently around hers; they do this for a while, the only real noise coming from the slapping of the rain on the windshield. She clicks the radio on and turns the volume down so it's almost like they're imagining the music instead of hearing it. She watches him, and he pretends not to notice. "You know," she sighs, and he can feel her thinking hard about what she's about to say, "you know that I love you, right?" He doesn't move, doesn't flinch, doesn't anything – he exhales. She forges ahead, filling the small car tightly with an awkward, confused air while he remains still – like if he stops moving, it will crush him. "It's just…it's like I need to see you all the time, and when I don't see you I'm thinking about you. It's like all I do now is worry about what you'll think and I just always want to be near you. I find all the stupid things you say interesting – all the stupid ones about crazy Mrs. Schuester, and Sheets 'n' Things, _all of them_. It's like you're the only thing I love – it scares me more everyday."

He looks at her, finally. Her eyes are shining, and she gazes back at him, her stare laced with desperation. He swallows, hoping to alleviate the lump in his throat, and attempts to smile at her (though it's a small smile, she seems to appreciate it).

"I…," he starts, and she watches his lips, "I know," he answers. She looks down, defeated, and sighs – he knows she'll be embarrassed in the morning about this, but it matters right now and he doesn't want her to feel shitty like that. He takes a deep breath, pushes the chocolate off the center console, and pulls her chin towards his and kisses her softly. She smiles as their lips part, but he pulls her back again. He can't help but kiss her a little more deeply before releasing her and starting the car. As he pulls out of the lot, he hears the last few bars of the music on the radio, and can't help but notice how much his heart aches when he realizes how closely he relates.

_A simple mistake starts the hardest time,_

_I promise I'll do anything you ask…this time._


	38. 038: Violent

**A/N:** for the love of god, please review? I would love you so. There's no song to go with this, & it's kind of weird.

**Title: **_Fleeting Moments_**  
Author: **_sparklinglemonade_**  
Rating:** _M_**  
Summary: **_Noah Puckerman isn't a good person – he's an ass, a studly sex-shark – but when it comes to Quinn Fabray he tends to have his moments._**  
Genre: **_Angst/Drama_**  
Chapter:** _Thirty Eight_

**Violent**

He isn't sure what she's had earlier, but when he comes to pick her up she's angry, and after a few hours she turns violent. She sobs, slamming her fists into his chest and he stares down at her, tears pooling in his eyes because she's so broken.

She cries. He stares in confusion and drives her home, except this time she makes him come inside with her. Which is fine, it's not like he's never been in her house before.

(He suddenly realizes that he's only been in her house once before and it was the night he got her pregnant. That's when he figures out that it's not so fine – it's not so fine at all).

They go into her living room and sit down on the couch – well, she does, he kind of hovers near the couch until she pulls him down and forces him to sit. She grabs at his shirt, wiping her eyes on it and then lays her head down on his stomach. He shifts uncomfortably – this should be more comfortable, it really should, but for some reason he feels ridiculous with all these variations on Jesus staring down at him and with Quinn sobbing all over him, and with literally everything at the moment. It's impossible to feel comfortable when he feels so ridiculously out of place – he doesn't know this place, he's been here once and it was the night he ruined her life (well, to be politically correct, where they ruined _their _lives), and it's weird. She always comes to his house – probably because it's the only place she's ever felt was home, which she'd told him once whilst living there – and he's much more comfortable there. He knows his house, there are no creepy Jesus' in his house, there are good(ish) memories in his house – this place holds nothing but shittiness for him (or her). This place is completely awful for them, and he wonders how she can manage to stay here – then he thinks about it, and he figures it's a big part of the reason for her almost-permanently drunken state. Being in this place all the time must suck for her – all the judgmental Jesus' staring down at her, remembering that this is where everything went to shit, remembering that this is where she broke Finn's heart, where she broke her Mother's and her Father's hearts, where she indirectly broke their marriage.

Being in this house must make her insane – and he starts to feel it a little himself. She continues to cry and he runs his hands through her hair and tries to make her feel better – he doesn't think it will, but it's really all he can do at this point. He hears some noise from somewhere inside the house, but he doesn't really think anything of it until said noise begins to draw nearer to them. He doesn't want to move, but he also doesn't want anything to happen to her, so he shifts himself into a more upright position and hopes to god (or, you know, one of the Jesus', since they're everywhere) that he doesn't have to hit anyone tonight – he's really not in the mood right now.

Thankfully, it's just Mrs. Fabray. She stops when she sees Quinn crying into his shirt, and watches them. Puck stares at her, confused – they've met all of one time, and it was kind of a hectic day, so they didn't really get a formal introduction. She watches for a few minutes, taking all of this in – the fact that Quinn's baby daddy was currently sitting on her couch, running his fingers through her sobbing daughter's hair was probably a lot to take in for one meeting, but if it is Mrs. Fabray doesn't let on.

"Hello, Noah," she says quietly, and then slowly makes her way up the stairs. Puck is confused but says hello back slowly, which she probably doesn't even hear, and turns back to Quinn. She's sniffling quietly, but the loud gasps have stopped and she's no longer producing fresh tears. Her face is red and splotchy, but still enviably gorgeous and she's letting out small hiccups.

"Do you feel any better?" he whispers, and she shakes her head.

"I think I might feel worse," she says slowly, almost mouthing the words instead of speaking them.

He sighs, but she sits up and rests her head on his shoulder, "stay with me?"

He doesn't have to answer, and he doesn't, but she knows he'll do anything for her - so they lie down on the couch and breathe until they fall asleep.


	39. 039: Muffle

**A/N:** I'm working on something that will hopefully be epic (I'm really excited about writing it), plus, there are obnoxious amounts of school to deal with, so forgive me if I'm not updating with such speed these days. Review? Please?

**Title: **_Fleeting Moments_**  
Author: **_sparklinglemonade_**  
Rating:** _M_**  
Summary: **_Noah Puckerman isn't a good person – he's an ass, a studly sex-shark – but when it comes to Quinn Fabray he tends to have his moments._**  
Genre: **_Angst/Drama_**  
Chapter:** _Thirty Nine_

**Muffle**

He muffles her loud sobs with his lips one night, and she kisses him back momentarily before shoving him away roughly. "That's not what we are," she growls.

He contemplates leaving her alone, but decides it's worth it to piss her off for once – "Then what the fuck are we, Fabray? I take you to this damn field every night and watch you drink and let you cry and we talk about everything but I can't fucking kiss you or touch you because we aren't anything? That's bullshit, Quinn."

"I don't care if it's bullshit!" she yells, "We aren't anything, and that should be fine by you – you don't want all of this hanging on you all the time, you don't want to be with this fucking baggage."

"Like I'm not already," he snorts, "Fabray, we're fucking married without the papers at this point – and you know that, so don't even pretend like you don't."

"We aren't," she says, annoyed. She shoves him hard and he glares at her, pretending it didn't actually hurt, "we're not fucking anywhere close to married, or dating, or together. We're…there's no label you can put on us. We aren't anything."

"It's not like I'm asking for a commitment from you or anything," he yells, unsure of what he really wants out of this argument, "I'm not a fucking insecure little girl – I just think it's really shitty that you won't let me kiss you, or touch you, or be with you when I'm practically your everything!"

"My everything? Don't get too full of yourself, Puck, you're not my damn everything," she's angry, and he doesn't know if he's ever seen her this drunk before, and tears are still flowing from her eyes and dripping onto her cheeks. He rolls his eyes at her.

"That's not how I fucking meant it, Quinn," he says, _except that it was_, he adds to himself. They're silent for a few minutes, but after a few minutes he continues, "it's exactly how I fucking meant it, and you know that. You know how I feel – I make it pretty damn clear."

"Stop it! Stop telling me you want to be with me when you don't!" she cries, then starts to shake her head rapidly, "I thought you'd changed, but you haven't. You just want to get laid and run away, you want to leave me high and fucking dry, and I'm not going to let you do that."

"I've never told you anything to make you fucking believe that, _where_ does something like that come from?" He throws is hands up, "God, I can't even have a real conversation with you anymore! It's like you're not even you."

"No," she shakes her head, ignoring the beginning of his statement and focusing on the end, "this _is_ who I am now. This is me, and if you're really that against it, I don't know what to do for you – This me is way different than that weak, terribly wounded girl you used to know and you should deal with it, because she's here to stay. You should get to know her," she rubs his forearm laughing sadly, "she likes you sometimes."

"You can't fucking joke about this stuff, Quinn! God!" he stands, pacing around her, "you're telling me one thing and meaning five others – I can't listen to you tell me we're nothing and then five minutes later hear you say that you lik-,"

"More than fucking like," she snorts, and he rolls his eyes.

"That doesn't change what I'm saying – you jump all around with your damn emotions, and I know it's because you're messed up, but you can't do this to me all the time. It hurts too damn much." He sigs, looking at her; she won't remember this in the morning, but it's fine because at least he got it out there. She runs a hand through her sweaty hair and looks back at him.

She kisses his cheek softly, "under all of this," she whispers into his skin, "I truly love you." He nods. They remain silent for either a long or short while, he's not sure. "Can we go now?" she asks quietly at some point, sleep pooling in her features. He nods, lifting her gently and doing as she says – he can't imagine doing anything different. She's asleep before he makes it out of the parking lot, snoring softly with her face pressed against the window – and he thinks it's a damn miracle he manages to get her inside the house and in her bed before he starts to tear up.


	40. 040: Swift

**A/N:** Never in my _life_ have I been more excited for a vacation than I am for winter break. A whole month of no work = way more time to write and be on tumblr. Anyway, the lack of quick = lack of muse. Also = influx of tumblr + large amount of ranting. This is different, kind of. The point of view goes in and out between the two of them, but I thought it was necessary. Review?

**Title: **_Fleeting Moments_**  
Author: **_sparklinglemonade_**  
Rating:** _M_**  
Summary: **_Noah Puckerman isn't a good person – he's an ass, a studly sex-shark – but when it comes to Quinn Fabray he tends to have his moments._**  
Genre: **_Angst/Drama_**  
Chapter:** _Forty_

**Swift**

She stares at him coolly when she notices her vodka-filled water bottle has somehow turned into a water-filled water bottle. "You think you're so swift," she mumbles, resting her head on his shoulder, "but I know your tricks."

He decides to ignore her and get drunk…it seems logical at the time.

She drinks from her water-filled water bottle; sobering up considerably in the few hours it takes for him to get considerably drunk. He's talking (he's not quite sure what about, but he's heard the word 'bird' roll off his tongue about nine times, so he assumes it's that,) and she's staring angrily into the distance, her eyes fixed on the rusting metal bleachers. He continues talking, and she looks over to him after a while and raises her eyebrow.

"This is what you deal with every night?" she asks dully, and he laughs at her disdainful expression.

"This," he gestures around with his hands, "is what I deal with every night."

"Wow," she sighs, then takes his big hand in her small one and plays with his fingers, "you must really love me."

"You don't even know the half of it," he says in a tone he thinks is under his breath, but she hears clearly. When she's drunk, things like him saying he loves her and her saying she loves him aren't big. They don't make her want to rip her hair out from the roots and crawl in a hole to die, they don't make her feel embarrassed and awkward, or afraid.

They don't make her hate herself.

When she's sober, it's like everything has a sharp edge that she's afraid to touch. She doesn't want to get pricked – to feel that rush of pain that comes right after you say something that could completely change everything in your life. She doesn't want to take that chance, to make any changes because right now? Right now she's supposed to be content – everything's supposed to appear hard but actually be easy. She's supposed to be over dramatic, and whiny – things that are menial are supposed to be the end of the world, but they aren't and she isn't, and that's what's wrong.

She's like this person trapped inside of her body that knows such different things that the people she is surrounded with. It's not to say that the things she knows are any better than the things they know, that she's any smarter, or better – it's just all different. The way she thinks, and sees, and understands now are different than the way she used to be – the way all those people still are now. She can't fully decide whether it's her that's so fucked up or if it's them – but she figures it's her because everyone else holds almost the same mindset and she's the one who's practically dead.

She wants to be better – she wants to not feel like she has to do a few shots in the morning to get through the day, but at this rate she isn't sure if she's going to be able to do that. She's not sure if there's anyone who gets it the way she does, and even if there is – she's not sure if there's anyone that can help.

_There's Puck_, a voice that sounds a lot like Puck's rings in the back of her mind, _he's always there for you_. The voice is right – it always is – but Puck (despite what people…well, what _everyone_ thinks) is good. He's a great guy, and even if he's an asshole sometimes and he doesn't really know how to handle his problems in the best way, he's amazing with her and he would have been an amazing dad. She doesn't want to drag him into this awful mess she's created any more than she already has – she doesn't want to make him any less great by telling him all the terrible things she thinks, make him hate her by showing him all her sad, scary thoughts. She knows this is the one thing he wants more than anything – he wants her to let him be there – but she can't do it to him, she can't lose him, so she takes it out on herself in the only way she knows how to.

"I think we should go," he sighs, interrupting her mental overload, "it's late," he tosses her the keys, "and we need to stop for some candy." He grins at her and she returns a small smile as they stumble back to the car (well, he stumbles, she just walks slowly behind him) and get in.

He makes a line of Swedish Fish down her arm as they sit in the parking lot of the small convenience store, drinking a giant soda with two straws. It'd be cuter if he wasn't smashed and she wasn't suicidal-ish – he doesn't remember the last time he saw her drive a car and she doesn't know the last time she's had this many clear thoughts, but it's cute in their own twisted way.

They're cute in their own twisted way, too.


	41. 041: Run

**A/N:** Welp…tumblr calls more than anything now, and it's sad that I'm actually serious. If you have a tumblr, follow me! The link's on my profile – and be forewarned, I'm really annoying! Review?

**Title: **_Fleeting Moments_**  
Author: **_sparklinglemonade_**  
Rating:** _M_**  
Summary: **_Noah Puckerman isn't a good person – he's an ass, a studly sex-shark – but when it comes to Quinn Fabray he tends to have his moments._**  
Genre: **_Angst/Drama_**  
Chapter:** _Forty One_

**Run**

They run around the track at 2 A.M. on a night when she's remained sober enough to do so. She hops on his back for the last leg of her mile, claiming she's too tired, and he carries her – no questions asked.

She remains sober enough to do a lot of things, lately. She's curbed herself a lot, actually, and he'd be more impressed if he weren't so drunk all the time. It's been a bit like a life swap – one that she isn't too thrilled with, and that he isn't too thrilled with either, but a swap nonetheless. He likes being buzzed when she's really not – but he'd also like it more if it were him buzzed with old her, not new emo her.

Okay, fine, not emo. Sad her. Depressed her. Whatever.

When she was normal and happy and gave a shit about the stupidity in life, when she was the head bitch and had Santana and Brittany attached to her like mosquitoes to one of those expensive bug zappers his Grandma always whines about needing – then he loved being drunk around her. She'd be sarcastic, and he'd give her retorts. They'd sit together and talk about nothing and eventually she'd trade him for Finn and he'd trade her for Santana – and that was fine by him.

Sometimes they'd just show up alone – Finn was grounded or doing something glee club related, Santana was off fucking someone else or sticking forks in someone's lawn, or pouring glue in some freshman cheerio's shoes or some shit – and she'd take care of him. Those were always his favorite times, when he'd get shit faced and she'd sit with him while he puked (she always bitched later, but she had a weird complex that he always had to be okay, even then) or when she'd make him drink water and he'd complain that water was for bitches.

When she'd take him home and talk to his little sister so he could sneak up to his room. When she'd sneak up to his room with him and make sure he was on his stomach and that some asprin and a bottle of water were there. Things like that – the stuff no one knew she'd done – those were his favorite.

He looks at her now – the pissed off, depressed, annoyed sober person she is at this moment, sitting on the grass covered in sweat and breathing heavily. He flops next to her and the world spins a little bit. "Will you take care of me?" he asks quietly and she gives him a thin lipped smile and sighs.

"Will you take care of you?" She asks, and he rolls his eyes. It really is a damn life swap. He gets up and takes off his shirt.

"I'm going to run," he says.

She nods her head, "One day I think I will, too," she whispers. He sighs and pulls her up to a standing position.

He hugs her tightly, "Can I run with you?" he asks and she shakes her head. He looks down, but then looks back up to her and takes her hand, weaving their fingers.

"Come with me now, then," he says lowly. She mumbles something offensive under her breath, but follows begrudgingly, and they run together for what he thinks may be the only time.


	42. 042: Poison

**A/N:** I don't know. Please, for the love of god, review? Let me know you're there?

**Title: **_Fleeting Moments_**  
Author: **_sparklinglemonade_**  
Rating:** _M_**  
Summary: **_Noah Puckerman isn't a good person – he's an ass, a studly sex-shark – but when it comes to Quinn Fabray he tends to have his moments._**  
Genre: **_Angst/Drama_**  
Chapter:** _Forty Two_

**Poison**

He's been telling her she's tossing back poison since the day they started at the field, and notices he's becoming a hypocrite more and more every day when he steals sips from her bottles to keep himself sane (and when she lets him have the whole thing without a care). She's been quiet until now, but tonight is different.

He tells her again. "Poison," he says, "sliding around in your pretty little veins."

There's something weird in the air and she doesn't know what to say or what to do other than to let him have it. She's been pissed all day – mad at herself, at everything everyone says. She's just angry, and there doesn't seem to be a rhyme or reason for it. She sighs, then yanks his chin toward her and tells him he's already had more than enough of a say over her body, that if he hadn't gotten her drunk that one time, they wouldn't be having this conversation.

He shuts up. Turns back to his drink – tonight he brought a bottle of coke to mix her vodka with. She glares at him.

"Want some?" he slurs a little, and she shakes her head. He looks at her, a confused expression amidst his features. "You don't drink a lot anymore," he observes, "before I started drinking with you, it was like a shit show, but now…now you're just a bitch."

She snorts, "I'm a bitch? Please, if I'm a bitch, what does that make you?"

He thinks. He's quiet and she can't wait for him to answer, so she stands and leans her shins on his back, her elbows on his shoulders, her hair fanning over his face. She wonders how on earth she's comfortable enough in front of him to be all over him – she hates that, usually, but then she remembers this is Puck. It doesn't matter if he's sober or not, or if she's sober or not, they just do things like this, and it doesn't have to be weird. It's…comfortable, and she likes it that way. She leans down to his ear; "I'm doing a lap while you think about this – two, if you're thinking at the normal speed."

She runs, now. Usually, they run, but lately he's been too preoccupied and she's been running alone. She does a lot of things alone, whether he's there or not.

She gets around the track twice easily, but notices he's staring at her and she slows when she comes around the last bend of the track. She trudges over and sits down, laying her head on his shoulder and looking up at him. "Did you figure out your little dilemma?"

"Yeah," he says, taking a sip out of his bottle. She looks at him upside down and pokes his chin with her nose. He looks down at her, smiling, but doesn't say anything. They're quiet. They breathe.

Finally, when she's pulling into his driveway and putting the car into park, he turns to her and cups her face with his hands. He's drunk, but she doesn't care, he looks sweet, and sincere, and they seem kind of normal for a second even if they're anything but. "I figured out that it makes me lucky, no matter what you are."

He slides the keys out of the ignition, kisses her cheeks and gets out of the car. He wobbles inside and wonders why he can't be this nice when he's sober.


	43. 043: Candescent

**A/N:** I know this took forever, but blame…okay fine, blame me. Hello. I love you, won't you tell me your name…in a review? …wink.

**Title: **_Fleeting Moments_**  
Author: **_sparklinglemonade_**  
Rating:** _M_**  
Summary: **_Noah Puckerman isn't a good person – he's an ass, a studly sex-shark – but when it comes to Quinn Fabray he tends to have his moments._**  
Genre: **_Angst/Drama_**  
Chapter:** _Forty Three_

**Candescent**

He looks at her for a few minutes every night, while she's not paying attention, or talking. He just stares. He sees that her skin is growing paler and paler, but when the moon hits her some special way it's almost as if she looks candescent – gorgeous, glowing, normal. Then she turns and smiles at him, and he realizes it's just his eyes playing tricks on him.

He stops drinking and she starts again. The world is fucked up but normal, and he's more pissed than he is caring.

She's pale, like he noticed before, and skinny. It's summer, but there's no tan, and there's no tone no matter how much she runs – which is a lot. "It relaxes me," she explains one night before hauling her no longer existent ass around the track a few times. He doesn't run with her much anymore, just watches her bony legs as they move and sighs.

He shouldn't fucking care anymore – she's put him through more shit than anyone ever has, more than his dick of a father, or his over dramatic yenta of a mother, _anyone_ – but for some reason he shows up every night, and he watches her get worse and worse, and he lets it happen because that's what she wants.

He lets her kill herself a little more every night, and she's grateful for it…or at least that's how it looks.

She lands in the grass next to him with a clumsy thud, and laughs. He glares at her, an eyebrow raised. "You look _so_ happy to see me," she manages through her laughter.

"Huh," he fakes a laugh, then sprawls out on the grass, using his wadded up t-shirt as a pillow. She curls into him and rests her sweaty head on his chest. He represses the urge to shove her off and stalk away, get to the seven eleven and brood like an asshole.

She makes him fucking _feel_ things, and even though it's been like a year and a half, he still hates her for it. He hates that he has to care about her, that he has to want her, that he has to protect her. He hates it, but he can't fucking change it, so why not be pissy about it? He adjusts himself a little and she clucks her tongue at him, "you're mad at me," she observes.

"Yeah, what's it to you?" he grunts. He doesn't want her to _know_ that he's not all too pleased with her, but…well he isn't. If she can be pissed for no reason at all half the time, he can be pissed _once_ with good reason – can't he?

She's quiet for a while before laying a hand flat over his face, "but I have such a charming personality, what's to be mad at?" She brings her fingers down and presses them to his lips before rolling away and laughing at herself. He shakes his head, smiling at her stiffly.

"Are you, though?" she asks through the thick air, a while later. She's laying flat on the grass, her eyes wide for fear the world will spin too fast if she shuts her eyes – it'll spin away from her, and away from him, and that's all she wants for him: the world. So she keeps her eyes peeled to make sure it doesn't go.

He sighs, flipping to his side so he can look at her, "no."

"You're mad at me, and you're a bad liar," she muses, "I sure know how to pick them well, don't I?"

"You didn't pick shit, Fabray," he mumbles, "can we go soon?"

She stands, her legs wobbling and her eyes sad as she watches him, then follows dutifully to the truck. He drives her home in silence, and she watches him from the corners of her eyes – which bugs him, but he'll at least let her have something.

She gets out of the car when he pulls into her drive, but comes around to his side of the truck and opens his door. He watches her in confusion as she steps up onto the running board and presses a kiss to his lips. He blinks at her.

"You can't stay mad at me for long," she whispers, her words piling up in her mouth, "okay?"

Before he can answer, she hops down and makes her way into the house, the moon beating down onto her skin – almost making her glow.


	44. 044: Temper

**A/N:** Hi. Can you review? Yes. Will you? Well, that's up to you, now isn't it? :)

**Title: **_Fleeting Moments_**  
Author: **_sparklinglemonade_**  
Rating:** _M_**  
Summary: **_Noah Puckerman isn't a good person – he's an ass, a studly sex-shark – but when it comes to Quinn Fabray he tends to have his moments._**  
Genre: **_Angst/Drama_**  
Chapter:** _Forty Four_

**Temper**

He's the only person she'll have a real temper with – she'll ignore him and yell, scream and smack him. It's never a lot, never enough to hurt him or to piss him off (too much), so he lets her and he takes it because it's the only time he really sees how bad she hurts.

He thinks it's stupid, to be honest, that she's still this terrible. He wants to tell her that he's upset too – he's always going to be upset about it, but he's able to live his life without being a wreck all the time, he's able to help her and she should be able to help him. Their relationship, whatever the fuck it is, shouldn't be all take – it shouldn't be all him, all the time.

She should be okay by now, shouldn't she?

He wants to ask someone – his mom, Finn, fuck, he'd settle for _Berry_, just _someone_ - and make them tell him that this isn't fucking right; that she should realize that she's being an idiot and fucking herself up – that he's upset, too, that he fucking matters, too. He wants her to know that he's just as hurt as she is, but he's starting to realize that what they did was better than either of them thought. He wants someone to tell him he's not a total asshole for feeling like this – for feeling like she's being selfish as fuck, for feeling like she should build a fucking bridge and let him help her get over it.

This is…okay, right?

To be honest, she's an idiot, now. She let everything else upset her and forgets that if she had…if they hadn't given her up they wouldn't have any semblance of a them – even if this one is really shitty and skewed, it's still _them_. If they'd kept her, which he thinks about a lot (more than he should, more than he wants to, more than he thought was possible, etc.) he now realizes that it would've been awful. Sure, they would have loved her and they would've been the best parents they could have been, but…he wanted to give Beth the world, not some crappy apartment in the Heights. He knows giving her to Shelby was the best decision, and he hates fucking saying it because he wishes it wasn't, but it was. It really was.

She screams at him, tonight. He doesn't pay too much attention, because it's usually always the same thing: "How could you let me do this? How could you let me take this away from us? How the hell could you be so stupid – you let me get rid of our child!"

She yells a lot about opportunity – about how she's taken them from him, from her, from them. How if she hadn't done this, there'd be so many more opportunities for _them_, for _their_ future. She says things about this other them a lot – this them that doesn't exist, and that never _could _exist. It's the idealistic them – happy, married, with Beth in her arms, never fighting, never jealous, never wrong, beautiful, dreamy version of them that could never happen unless they both got lobotomies. She clings to the hope of dream them, though – even if they'd never exist outside of her mind. Even if the real them could be so much better than the dream them could ever hope to be. He lets her yell about it though – about shit she can't change, and given the chance (and in the right mind) probably wouldn't. She knows she doesn't really want _them_ right now – she wants the idea of them, the idea of knowing someone would be there for her when she felt like shit, someone who would deal with it when she fucked up because they loved her like no one else could – a sucker, in short.

He was a sucker for her, but he wasn't fucking stupid. There couldn't be a them until there was a her again, that much was clear. There was whatever there was right now, there was this, and that was it…hopefully it wouldn't _always_ be it, but…he doesn't want to think about this just being it. Them not…happening. He's no fucking pussy; he just knows what he wants after all this shit is over. He wants them – he wants her and him and them, fighting over stupid little things and fucking in public places, and teasing and scheming and loving. He wants her to be her and him to be him, and them to exist – but wanting is wanting. He better get what he wants on this one – that's all he's got to say.

She lets her temper get the best of her, tonight, though – she yells the same things, and describes the same life, and cries the same tears as she does every night. She pounds on him with the same fists, she kisses him with the same lips: she's stuck, and he doesn't know how to un…stick her anymore. So he lets her, and he hopes that eventually she's get herself out – at this point, it's kind of a pipe dream, but he has hope - the _only_ thing he has is hope, and that's got to count for _something_.


	45. 045: Sore

**A/N:** Oh, well hello there. We've hit the point in this story where I'm getting to my most favorite of prompts...yay! Unfortunately, this is about to get _sadder_, if you didn't really think that was going to be possible…well, I'm sorry. Don't worry, it all has a purpose.

**Title: **_Fleeting Moments_**  
Author: **_sparklinglemonade_**  
Rating:** _M_**  
Summary: **_Noah Puckerman isn't a good person – he's an ass, a studly sex-shark – but when it comes to Quinn Fabray he tends to have his moments._**  
Genre: **_Angst/Drama_**  
Chapter:** _Forty Five_

**Sore**

On a humid night in late August, she announces she is sore. Mostly out of curiosity, he asks why and watches in disbelief as she rolls up the sleeves of a hooded sweatshirt slowly and dangles her skinny wrist in front of his face. He'd asked her multiple times why she'd been wearing something so big and baggy – and he gapes as he sees the real answer. It's healed, now – still red, but not puffy or bleeding or anything – but it's there, and that's the point. It's there, and she's taken it to a whole new fucking level now.

She hurts – he gets it. He's always gotten it, between the drinking and the bitchiness, the anger towards him; the clearly broken state she's in always shines through, and he sees it. He's always seen it. It's not until now that he's chosen to actively address it, though. He takes a hold of her arm, gripping it softly, and takes a breath, staring at it. She shifts uncomfortably, looking at him as he inspects her arm carefully, looking for any other traces of cuts or scratches or anything.

He doesn't miss the faint lines on the inside of her arm, or the way his chest tightens as he realizes he'd noticed them before and written them off as something other than what they were. He looks at her, straight in the eyes, and takes a deep breath.

She'd been hurting herself for a long time, but this is the most hopeless he's ever felt from it. This is the most real it's ever felt, the most actual pain he's ever felt from her being so terribly fucked up – and it's because this? This he can see. It actually hurt enough for her to physically _hurt_ herself, and he fucking can't stand that there's no way for him to take that away – mainly because she won't let him see if there's any way for him to take it away.

He kisses her arm slowly along the newer cut, running his thumb softly along it and looking at her to make sure it doesn't hurt. She doesn't flinch, doesn't hiss in pain, just looks straight at him with full eyes – disbelief that she showed him, that he's not flipping out on her, probably a mixture of the two. He hates when she looks at him like that – he hates when she looks like she's so close to breaking all of the damn time, and he can't really help what happens because of that look on her face.

"Can't you let me fix it?" He asks, his lips against her wrist, kissing it softly before looking up at her. He sets her wrist down gently into her lap and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, "Please baby," he begs, "let me make it better." He feels himself breaking, and for once he doesn't do a damn thing to stop it. He's worried about her – more worried than is natural for him, because she's been hiding for god knows how long, and this isn't something small. This isn't something anywhere near small – and he doesn't know _how_ to fix it.

She moves to sit next to him, resting her face in the crook of his neck and taking ragged breaths into his shoulder. He takes a few shaky breaths of his own, putting his face into her hair and letting himself tear up a little. "I'm sorry I didn't notice," he mumbles into her hair, his voice wet. Her breaths get less even, and he feels her tears soaking into his skin, "I notice everything about you, but this…" he trails, his voice breaking on the last word.

"I hid," she whispers, "just like I always do."

It's silent for a while, "I'm sorry," he finally breaks through it. She shakes her head, but he cups her face in his hands and looks at her, "I am."

She shakes her head again, tears falling off of her cheeks and onto his hands. She wipes a tear off of his face, kissing her thumb and pressing it to his lips.

"_I'm_ sorry," she whispers, her voice rough, "I don't know how you can fix me."

He doesn't say anything, just rests his forehead against hers – because he doesn't know either.


End file.
